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QUINTUS QUOZZLE'S CATASTROPHE.— Boofc II, i^a^^e 121. 



NEAL'S 

CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 



THREE BOOKS COMPLETE IN ONE. 




'But good listeners, as there has been unhappily too much occasion to 
show, are rarities." — Book III, page 91. 



PHILADELPHIA: 
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

306 Chestnut Street. 



CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

THREE BOOKS COMPLETE IN ONE. 

CONTAINING THE WHOLE OP HIS FAMOUS 

Charcoal Sketches; Peter Faber's Misfortunes; 
Peter Ploddy's Dream; 

AS WELL AS HIS ORIGINAL PAPERS OF THE 

UONS OF SOCIETY; OLYMPUS PUMP; AND MUSIC MAD. 

TO WHICH IS ADDED / 






FORTY-ONE OTHER SKETCHES BY JOSEPH Cj NEAL. 

ILLUSTRATIVE OF 



HIS OWN OBSERVATIONS AND EXPEEIENCB. 



BEING 

THE ONLY COMPLETE EDITION OP HIS WRITINGS KVER BEFORE COLLECTED 
AND ISSUED COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 



WITH TWENTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS. 

FROM 

OEIGINAL DESIGNS BY FELIX 0. 0. DARLET. 



P I) 1 1 a It e I ]3 1) i a : 
T. B. PETEESOlSr & BKOTHERS, 

306 CHESTNUT STREET. 






i 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by 

T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, 

In the Clerk's OflSce of the District Court of the United States, in and for the 

Eastern District of PennsylTania. 

COLLINS, PRINTER, 705 JAYNE STREET. 






CONTENTS 



BOOK THE FIRST. 

PAGE 

Olympus Pump; or, the Poetic Temperament 7 

'Tis only my Husband 16 

Orson Dabbs, the Hittite 31 

Rocky Smalt; or, the Dangers of Imitation 39 

Undeveloped Genius. A Passage in the Life of P. Pilgarlick 

Pigwiggen, Esq 50 

The best-natured Man in the World 60 

A pair of Slippers ; or. Falling Weather 70 

Indecision. — Duberly Doubtingtou, the Man who couldn't make 

up his Mind "79 

Dilly Jones ; or, the Progress of Improvement 93 

The Fleshy One 100 

Garden Theatricals 114 

Peter Brush, the great Used Up 130 

Music Mad ; or, the Melomaniac 142 

Ripton Rumsey; A Tale of the Waters 155 

A whole-souled Fellow ; or, the Decline and Fall of Tippleton 

Tipps 163 

Gamaliel Gambril ; or, Domestic Uneasiness 183 

The Crooked Disciple; or, the Pride of Muscle 194 

Fydget Fyxington 207 



BOOK THE SECOND. 

** Boots; or, the Misfortunes of Peter Faber 7 

The Man that danced the Polka ; or, the Oak and the Violet.... 21 

Perry Winkle ; or, "Just what I Expected " 30 

The Moral of Goslyne Greene, who was born to a Fortune 43 

(3) 



4 CONTENTS. 

PAGK 

Johnny Jumpup, the Rising Son 57 

Mr. Kerr Mudgeon ; or, "You Won't, Won't You" 68 

A Bore, in Charcoal 78 

*' Look at the Clock;" or, A " Pretty Time of Night" 87 

Sherrie Kobler ; or, a Search after Fun 98 

Singleton Snippe, who Married for a Living 109 

Quintus Quozzle's Catastrophe — a Phrenological Illustration.... 121 

Dashes at Life ; or. Splashes in Philadelphia 132 

The Trials of Timothy Tantrum 138 

The Lions of Society — Potts, Peters, and Bobus 150 

David Dumps, the Doleful One 156 

Flyntey Harte ; or, the Hardening Process 168 

The Merry Christmas ; or, the Happy New Year of Mr. Dunn 

Brown 180 

Peleg W. Ponder; or, the Politician without a Side 187 

BOOK THE THIRD. 

Peter Ploddy's Dream 5 

The Black Maria 24 

Slyder Downehylle , 37 

Highdays and Holidays 54 

The News-boy 63 

(xossip about Gossiping 82 

Shiverton Shakes 99 

The Boys that Run with the Engine 125 

Jack Spratte's Revenge 140 

Corner Loungers 166 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



BOOK I. 



PAGE 
12 

Olympus Pump 

♦' There ! that dog's oflf, and the ketchers are coming— Carlo ! 

Carlo!" ^^ 

" Mons'us warm, Miss, and dancing makes it mons' usser " 110 

*' Every man for himself ! phre-e-e ! bro-o-o ! who's got some 

splatterdocks ?;; ^^^ 



BOOK II 

*♦ Boots 1" was the sepulchral reply 14 

Perry Winkle ; or, *'Just what I expected" 30 

The Moral of Goslyne Greene, who was horn to a Fortune 43 

Mr. Kerr Mudgeon ; or, " You Won't, Won't You " 68 

Quintus Quozzle's Catastrophe {face title) 121 

Dashes at Life ; or, Splashes in Philadelphia 132 

The Lions of Society 1^^ 



BOOK III. 

"'Put the genus in a wheelbarrow,' exclaimed Dogberry, in 
tones of command, ' and make the t'other fellers walk.' " 18 

*'The last time he was seen by credible witnesses, they noted 
I him busily employed in playing 'All Fours,' in front of John 
Gin's hostelry — a game probably selected as emblematic of his 
now creeping condition" 52 

** Here comes one— a woman — traces of comeliness still linger 
even amid the more enduring marks of sin, poverty, and 

sorrow" ^2 

(5) 



6 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

PAOR 

" Look ye, too, where comes the forgotten tailor, the neglected 
hatter, the unsought shoemaker, with a long line of others 
who have administered to your convenience " 60 

Tom Tibbs— the News-boy 68 

"But good listeners, as there has been unhappily too much oc- 
casion to show, are rarities "...... {title cut) 91 

" 'Now I come in, so,' and he threw his head aside in a lan- 
guishing manner — ' Hope you're very well, Mrs. Marygold — 
that chair's the old lady — how dee doo, Mrs. Marygold — how's 
Bob ? — no, not Bob — how is Mr. Robert ? — then that bed post's 
the old man — compliments to the old man — that wash-stand 
is the young ladies, all of a bunch" 110 

** In the group which forms the subject of our story, such a one 
will be seen in the person of Hickey Hammer — he who leans 
against the wall, with club in hand and with a most majestic 
sternness in his countenance" 136 

" He finally bought his fish, and as they dangled from his hand, 
so did he dangle after Miss Phinney, and the combined per- 
severance of dangling and purchasing at last brought him to 
the haven of his hopes. They were married, and Miss Felicia 
Phinney was duly metamorphosed into Mrs. Brownstout ".... 157 

*' They literally are the pillars of the state. They prop up lamp- 
posts, patronize fire-plugs, and encourage the lindens of the 
street in their unpractised efforts to grow " 167 



NEAL'S CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 
BOOK THE FIRST. 



^ 



CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 



OLYMPUS PUMP; 
OR, THE POETIC TEMPERAMENT. 

It is said that poetry is on the decline, and that as man 
surrounds himself with artificial comforts, and devotes 
his energies to purposes of practical utility, the sphere of 
imagination becomes circumscribed, and the worship of 
the Muses is neglected. We are somewhat disposed to 
assent to this conclusion ; the more from having remarked 
the fact that the true poetic temperament is not so fre- 
quently met with as it was a few years since, and that 
the outward marks of genius daily become more rare. 
Where the indications no longer exist, or where they 
gradually disappear, it is but fair to conclude that the 
thing itself is perishing. There are, it is true, many de- 
lightful versifiers at the present moment, but we fear that 
though they display partial evidences of inspiration upon 
paper, the scintillations are deceptive. Their conduct 
seldom exhibits sufficient proof that they are touched 
with the celestial fire, to justify the public in regarding 
them as the genuine article. Judging from the rules 
formerly considered absolute upon this point, it is alto- 
gether preposterous for your happy, well-behaved, well- 
dressed, smoothly-shaved gentleman, who pays liis debts, 



8 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

and submits quietly to the laws framed for the govern- 
ment of the uninspired part of society, to arrogate to 
himself a place in the first rank of the sons of genius, 
whatever may be his merits with the gray goose quill. 
Tliere is something defective about him. The divine 
afflatus has been denied, and though he may flap his 
wings, and soar as high as the house-tops, no one can 
think him capable of cleaving the clouds, and of playing 
hide and seek among the stars. Even if he were to do 
so, the spectator would either believe that his eyes de- 
ceived him, or that the successful flight was accidental, 
and owing rather to a temporary density of the atmo- 
sphere than to a strength of pinion. 

The true poetic temperament of the old school is a gift 
as fatal, as that of being able to sing a good song is to a 
youth with whom the exercise of the vocal organ is not 
a profession. It was — and to a certain extent is — an 
axiom, that an analogy almost perfect exists between the 
poet and the dolphin. To exhibit their beautiful hues they 
must both be on the broad road to destruction. We are 
fully aware that it has been supposed by sceptical spirits 
that there is some confusion of cause and effect in arriv- 
ing at this conclusion, — that there is no sufficient reason 
that genius should be a bad citizen. The existence of 
an irresistible impulse to break the shackles of conven- 
tionalism has been doubted by the heterodox. They de- 
clare that a disposition to do so is felt by most men, and 
that aberrations are indulged in, partly from a principle 
of imitation, because certain shining lights have thought 
proper to render themselves as conspicuous for their ec- 
centricities as for their genius, and chiefly from a belief 
that society expects such wanderings, and regards them 
with lenity. But analysis is not our forte, even if we 
were disposed to cavil at such convenient things as 



OLYMPUS PUMP. ^ 

lumping generalities. Your inquiring philosophers are 
troublesome fellows, and while we content ourselves 
with the bare fact, let them seek rerum cognoscere 

causas. 

It is, however, a satisfaction to know that the full- 
blooded merino is not yet quite extinct. Olympus Pump 
is the personification of the temperament of which we 
speak. Had there been a little less of the divine essence 
of poesy mingled with the clay of which he is composed, 
it would have been better for him. The crockery of his 
moral constitution would have been the more adapted to 
the household uses of this kitchen world. But Pump 
delights in being the pure porcelain, and would scorn the 
admixture of that base alloy, which, while it might render 
him more useful, would diminish his ornamental quali- 
ties. He proudly feels that he was intended to be a 
mantel embellishment to bear bouquets, not a mere 
utensil for the scullery ; and that he is not now fulfilling 
his destiny, arises solely from the envy and uncharitable- 
ness of those gross and malignant spirits with which the 
world abounds. Occupied continually in his mental 
laboratory, fabricating articles which he finds unsaleable, 
and sometimes stimulating his faculties with draughts 
of Scheidam, the " true Hippocrene," he slips from 
station to station, like a child tumbling down stairs ; and 
now, having arrived at the lowest round of fortune's lad- 
der, he believes it was envy that tugged at his coat tails, 
and caused his descent, and that the human race are a 
vast band of conspirators. There are no Maecenases in 
these modern times to help those who will not help them- 
selves; no, not even a Capel Loflft, to cheer the Pumps 
of the nineteenth century. No kindly arm toils at the 
handle : and if he flows, each Pump must pump fo'- 
himself. Such, at least, is the conclusion at which Olym 



10 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

pus has arrived, and he has melancholy reasons for be- 
lieving that in his instance he is correct. Thus, while 
his mind is clothing its varied fancies in rich attire, and 
his exulting spirit is gambolling and luxuriating in the 
clover and timothy of imagination's wide domain, or 
drinking fairy Champagne and eating canvass-back ducks 
in air-drawn palaces, his outward man is too frequently 
enduring the sad reverse of these unreal delights. He 
may often be seen, when the weather is cold, leaning his 
back against a post on the sunny side of the street ; hi? 
hands, for lack of coin, filling his roomy pockets ; his 
curious toes peeping out at crannies to see the world ; 
an indulgence extended to them by few but the Pump 
family; and his elbows and knees following the example 
of his lower extremities. Distress, deep thought, or 
some other potent cause has transplanted the roses from 
the garden of his cheek to that no longer sterile promon- 
tory his nose, while his chin shows just such a stubble 
as would be invaluable for the polishing brush of a boot- 
black. 

But luckily the poetic temperament has its compensa- 
tions. When not too much depressed, Olympus Pump has 
a world of his own within his cranium ; a world which 
should be a model for that without, — a world in which 
there is nothing to do, and every thing to get for the ask- 
ing. If in his periods of intellectual abstraction, the 
external atmosphere should nip his frame, the high price 
of coal affects him not. In the palace of the mind, fuel 
costs nothing, and he can there toast himself brown free 
of expense. Does he desire a tea-party ? — the guests 
are in his noddle at his call, willing to stay, or ready to 
depart, at his command, without " standing on the order 
of their going;" and the imagined tables groan with 
viands which wealth might exhaust itself to procure. 



OLYMPUS PUMP. 11 

Does he require sweet music ? — the poetic fancy can 
perform an opera, or manufacture hosts of Frank John- 
sons in the twinkling of an eye ; and the celestial crea- 
tures, who waltz and galope in the spacious salons of his 
brain-pan, are endowed with loveliness which reality 
can never parallel. 

With such advantages, Pump, much as he grumbles, 
would not exchange the coruscations of his genius, which 
flicker and flare like the aurora borealis, for a " whole 
wilderness" of comfort, if it were necessary that he should 
entertain dull, plodding thoughts, and make himself 
" generally useful." Can he not, while he warms his 
fingers at the fire of imagination, darn his stockings and 
patch his clothes with the needle of his wit ; wash his 
linen and his countenance in the waters of Helicon ; and, 
silting on the peak of Parnassus, devour imaginary fried 
oysters with Apollo and the Muses ? 

But either " wool gathering" is not very profitable, or 
else the envy of which Pump complains is stronger 
than ever ; for not long since, after much poetic idleness, 
and a protracted frolic, he was seen, in the witching time 
of night, sitting on a stall in the new market house, for 
the very suflicient reason that he did not exactly know 
where else lodging proportioned to the state of his fiscai 
department could be found. He spoke : 

" How blue ! how darkly, deeply, beautifully blue ! — 
not me myself, but the expanse of ether. The stars 
wink through the curtain of the air, like a fond mother 
to her drowsy child, as much as to say hush-a-by-baby 
to a wearied world. In the moon's mild rays even the 
crags of care like sweet rock-candy shine. Night is a 
Carthagenian Hannibal to sorrow, melting its Alpine 
steeps, whilst buried hope pops up revived and cracks 
its rosy shins. Day may serve to light sordid man to 



12 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

his labours ; it may be serviceable to let calabashes and 
squashes see how to grow ; but the poetic soul sparkles 
beneath the stars. Genius never feels its oats until 
after sunset ; twilight applies the spanner to the fireplug 
of fancy to give its bubbling fountains way ; and mid- 
night lifts the sluices for the cataracts of the heart, and 
cries, * Pass on the water !' Yes, and economically con- 
sidered, night is this world's Spanish cloak ; for no mat- 
ter how dilapidated or festooned one's apparel may be, 
the loops and windows cannot be discovered, and we 
look as elegant and as beautiful as get out. Ah !" con- 
tinued Pump, as he gracefully reclined upon the stall, 
" it's really astonishing how rich I am in the idea line 
to-night. But it's no use. I've got no pencil — not even 
a piece of chalk to write 'em on my hat for my next 
poem. It's a great pity ideas are so much of the soap- 
bubble order, that you can't tie 'em up in a pocket hand- 
kerchief, like a half peck of potatoes, or string 'em on a 
stick like catfish. I often have the most beautiful notions 
scampering through my head with the grace, but alas ! 
the swiftness too, of kittens — especially just before I get 
asleep — but they're all lost for the want of a trap ; an 
intellectual figgery four. I wish we could find out the 
way of sprinkling salt on their tails, and make 'em wait 
till we want to use 'em. Why can't some of the meaner 
souls invent an idea catcher for the use of genius ? I'm 
sure they'd find it profitable, for I wouldn't mind owing 
a man twenty dollars for one myself. Oh, for an idea 
catcher!" 

Owen Glendower failed in calling up spirits, but the 
eloquence of Pump was more efl[icacious. In the heavy 
shadow of a neighbouring pile of goods a dark mass ap- 
peared to detach itself, as if a portion of the gloom had 
suddenly become animated. It stepped forth in the 




1 ow blu-t ! how ctccrily deeply 'beauh/uUy j^,. 
^^Ijjblue^ not vie myse'/fiut thaexfiant e of eth erJ^F.ll j^SFi 



"Ah !" continued Pump, as he gracefully reclined upon the stall, "it's really aston- 
ishing how rich I am in the idea line to-niglit. But it's no use. I've got no pencil — 
not even a piece of chalk to write 'em on my hat for my next poem. It's a great pity 
ideas are so much of the soap-hubhle order, that you can't tie 'em up in a pocket hand- 
kerchief, like a half peck of potatoes, or string 'em on a stick like catfish." — Book I, 
"pnge 1 2 



OLYMPUS PUMP. 13 

likeness of a man, mysteriously wrapped up, whose eyes 
glared fiercely, and with a sinister aspect, as he advanced 
towards the poet. Pump stared in silence — he felt like 
an idea, and as if the catcher were close at hand, ready to 
pounce upon it. *' Catching the idea" for once seemed a 
disagreeable operation. The parties confronted each other 
for a time without saying a word. A cloud hurrying 
across the moon lent additional terror to the scene, and 
the unknown, to Pump's astonished vision, appeared to 
swell to a supernatural size. The stranger, at last, 
waved his arm, hemmed thrice, and in the deep, deci- 
sive tones of one used to command, said : 

"It's not a new case — it's been decided frequent. 
It's clearly agin the ordination made and j ovided, and 
it's likewise agin the act" — 

"Ah me! what act?" ejaculated the astonished 
Pump. 

" To fetch yourself to anchor on the stalls. It isn't 
what the law considers pooty behaviour, and no gem- 
man would be cotched at it. To put the case, now, 
would it be genteel for a man to set on the table at 
dinner-time ? Loafing on the stalls is jist as bad as 
rolling among the dishes." 

" Oh, is that all ? I'm immersed in poetic conceptions ; 
I'm holding sweet communion with my own desolate 
affections. Leave me, leave me to the luxuriance of 
imagination ; sufier me, as it were, to stray through the 
glittering realms of fancy." 

*• What ! on a mutton butcher's shambles ? Bless you, 
I can't think of it for a moment. My notions is rigid, 
and if I was to find my own daddy here, I'd rouse him 
out. You must tortle off, as fast as you kin. If your 
tongue wasn't so thick, I'd say you must mosey ; but 
moseying is only to be done when a gemman's half shot ; 



14 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

when they're gone cases, we don't expect 'em to do 
more nor tortle." 

'* Excuse me — I don't see that it makes much differ- 
ence to you whether I am qualified to mosey, or am 
only capable of the more dignified method of locomotion, 
which you call to tortle. But don't disturb me. The 
moon has resuscitated my fancy, and I feel as if I would 
shortly compose an ode to Nox and Erebus." 

*' Compose what's owed to Messrs. Nox and Erebus ! 
Yes, I thought you were one of that sort what makes 
compositions when they owe any thing. Precious little 
Nox and Erebus will get out of you. But come, hop 
the twig!" So saying, the relentless guardian of the 
night seized the hapless Pump by the collar, and began to 
remove him. 

" Now, don't — don't be gross and muscular. I'm an 
oppressed man, with no friend but my coat, and both 
my coat and myself are remarkable for fragility of con- 
stitution. We are free souls, vibrating on the breath of 
the circumambient atmosphere, and by long companion- 
ship, our sympathies are so perfect, that if you pull hard 
you'll produce a pair of catastrophes ; while you tear the 
one, you'll discombobberate the nerves of the other." 

*' Well, Pm be blamed !" said the watch, recoiling, 
" did you ever hear the likes of that ? Why, aunty, ain't 
you a noncompusser ?" 

" Pm a poet, and it's my fate not to be understood 
either by the world in general, or by Charleys in parti- 
cular. The one knocks us down, and the others 
take us up. Between the two, we are knocked about 
like a ball, until we become unravelled, and perish." 

"I don't want to play shinney with you, no how — 
why don't you go home ?" 

** The bottle is empty ; the bill unpaid ; landlords are 



OLYMPUS PUMP. 15 

vulgar realities — mere matters of fact — and very apt to 
vituperate." 

" Well, it's easy enough to work, get money, fill the 
bottle, and pay the gemman what you owes him." 

" I tell you again you can't understand the poetic soul. 
It cannot endure the scorn and contumelies of the earthly. 
It cannot submit to toil under a taskmaster, and when 
weaving silver tissues of romance, be told to jump about 
spry and 'tend the shop. Nor, when it meets congenial 
spirits, can it leave the festive board, because the door is 
to be locked at ten o'clock, and there isn't any dead latch 
to it. The delicate excesses into which it leads us, to 
repair the exhaustion of hard thought, compel us to 
sojourn long in bed, and even that is registered by fip- 
and-levy boobies as a sin. At the present moment, I am 
falling a victim to these manifold oppressions of the un- 
intellectual." 

" Under the circumstances, then, what do you say to 
being tuck up ?" 

** Is it optional ?" 

" I don't know ; but it's fineable, and that's as good." 

** Then I decline the honour." 

" No, you don't. I only axed out of manners. You 
must rise up, William Riley, and come along with me, 
as the song says." 

*' I suppose I must, whether I like the figure or not. 
Alack, and alas for the poetic temperament ! Must the 
iEolian harp of genius be so rudely swept by a Charley — 
must that harp, as I may say, play mere banjo jigs, when 
it should only respond in Lydian measures to the south- 
ern breezes of palpitating imagination? To what base 
uses"— . 

•' Hurrah ! Keep a toddling — pull foot and away !" 

Olympus obeyed ; for who can control his fate ^ 



( 16) 



'TIS ONLY MY HUSBAND .« 



" Goodness, Mrs. Pumpilion, it's a gentleman's voice, 
and me such a figure !" exclaimed Miss Amanda Corn- 
top, who had just arrived in town to visit her friend, 
Mrs. Pumpilion, whom she had not seen since her mar- 
riage. 

'* Don't disturb yourself, dear," said Mrs. Pumpilion, 
quietly, *' it's nobody — 'tis only my husband. He'll 
not come in ; but if he does, 'tis only my husband." 

So Miss Amanda Corntop was comforted, and her 
agitated arrangements before the glass bemg more coolly 
completed, she. resumed her seat and the interrupted con- 
versation. Although, as a spinster, she had a laudable 
and natural unwillingness to be seen by any of the mas- 
culine gender in that condition so graphically described 
as " such a figure," yet there are degrees in this unwill- 
ingness. It is by no means so painful to be caught a 
figure by a married man as it is to be surprised by a 
youthful bachelor; and, if the former be of that peculiar 
class known as *' only my husband," his unexpected 
arrival is of very little consequence. He can never 
more, "like an eagle in a dove cote, flutter the Volsces " 

• It may not be amiss to state that the mere conclusion of the 
above sketch, hastily thrown off by the same pen, appeared in one 
of our periodicals a few years ago, and, much mutilated and dis- 
figured, has since been republished in the newspapers, with an erro- 
neous credit, and under a different name. 



*TIS ONLY MY HUSBAND. it 

It is, therefore, evident that there exists a material differ- 
ence between '* my husband" and " only my husband;*' 
a difference not easily expressed, though perfectly un- 
derstood ; and it was that understanding which restored 
Miss Amanda Corntop to her pristine tranquillity. 

*' Oh !" said Miss Corntop, when she heard that the 
voice in question was that of Mr. Pumpilion. "Ah !* 
added Miss Corntop, intelligently and composedly, when 
she understood that Pumpilion was *' only my hus- 
band.'* She had not paid much attention to philology 
but she was perfectly aware of the value of that diminu- 
tive prefix "only.'* 

" I told you he would not come in, for he knew there 
was some one here," continued Mrs. Pumpilion, as the 
spiritless footsteps of " only my husband" passed the 
door, and slowly plodded up stairs. He neither came 
in, nor did he hum, whistle, or bound three steps at a 
time; "only my husband" never does. He is simply a 
transportation line ; he conveys himself from place to 
place according to order, and indulges not in episodes 
and embellishments. 

Poor Pedrigo Pumpilion ! Have all thy glories shrunk 
to this little measure ? Only my husband ! Does thai 
appellation circumscribe him who once found three 
chairs barely sufficient to accommodate his frame, and 
who, in promenading, never skulked to the curb or 
hugged the wall, but, like a man who justly appreciated 
himself, took the very middle of the trottoir, and kept it ? 

The amiable, but now defunct, Mrs. Anguish was 
never sure that she was perfectly well, until she had 
shaken her pretty head to ascertain if some disorder were 
not lying in ambush, and to discover whether a head- 
ache were not latent there, which, if not nipped in the 
bud, might be suddenly and inconveniently brought into 
132 



18 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

action. It is not too much to infer that the same reason- 
ing, which applies to headaches and to the physical con- 
stitution, may be of equal force in reference to the moral 
organization. Headaches being latent, it is natural to 
suppose that the disposition to be ♦* only my husband" 
may likewise be latent, even in him who is now as fierce 
and as uncontrollable as a volcano ; while the desire to be 
" head of the bureau'* may slumber in the mildest of the 
fair. It is by circumstance alone that talent is developed ; 
the razor itself requires extraneous aid to bring it to an 
edge ; and the tact to give direction, as well as the faci- 
lity to obey, wait to be elicited by events. Both grey- 
mareism and Jerry-Sneakery are sometimes latent, and 
like the derangements of Mrs. Anguish's caput, only 
want shaking to manifest themselves. If some are born 
to command, others must certainly have a genius for sub- 
mission — we term it a genius, submission being in many 
cases rather a difficult thing. 

That this division of qualities is full of wisdom, none 
can deny. It requires both flint and steel to produce a 
spark ; both powder and ball to do execution ; and, 
though the Chinese contrive to gobble an infinity of rice 
with chopsticks, yet the twofold operation of knife and 
fork conduces much more to the comfort of a dinner. 
Authority and obedience are the knife and fork of this 
extensive banquet, the world ; they are the true divide 
et impera ; that which is sliced off by the one is har- 
pooned by the other. 

In this distribution, however, nature, when the '* la- 
tcnts" are made apparent, very frequently seems to act 
with caprice. It is by no means rare to find in the form 
of a man, a timid, retiring, feminine disposition, which, 
in the rough encounters of existence, gives way at once, 
as if like woman, "born to be controlled." The proper- 



'tis only my husband. 19 

tions of a Hercules, valenced witli the whiskers of a tiger, 
often cover a heart with no more of energy and boldness ! 
in its pulsations than the little palpitating affair which 
throbs in the bosom of a maiden of bashful fifteen; 
while many a lady fair, before marriage — the latent 
condition — all softuess and graceful humility, bears 
within her breast the fiery resolution and the indo- 
mitable will of an Alexander, a Hannibal, or a Doctor 
Francia. The temperament which, had she been a 
man, would, in an extended field, have made her a con- 
queror of nations, or, in a more contracted one, a dis- 
tinguished thief-catching police officer, by being lodged 
in a female frame renders her a Xantippe — a Napoleon 
of the fireside, and pens her hapless mate, like a con- 
quered king, a spiritless captive in his own chimney 
corner. 

But it is plain to be seen that this apparent confusion 
lies only in the distribution. There are souls enough of 
all kinds in the world, but they do not always seem pro- 
perly fitted with bodies ; and thus a corporal construc- 
tion may run the course of life actuated by a spirit in 
every respect opposed to its capabilities ; as at the 
breaking up of a crowded soiree^ a little head waggles 
home with an immense castor, while a pumpkin pate 
sallies forth surmounted by a thimble ; which, we take 
it, is the only philosophical theory which at all accounts 
for the frequent acting out of character with which 
society is replete. 

Hence arises the situation of affairs with the Pumpi- 
lions. Pedrigo Pumpilion has the soul which legitimate- 
ly appertains to his beloved Seraphina Serena, while 
Seraphina Serena Pumpilion has that which should 
animate her Pedrigo. But, not being profound in thei* 
researches, they are probably not aware of the fact, and 



20 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

perhaps would not know their own souls if they were to 
meet them in the street ; although, in all likelihood, it 
was a mysterious sympathy — a yearning of each physi- 
cal individuality to be near so important a part of itself, 
which brought this worthy pair together. 

Be that, however, as it may, it is an incontrovertible 
fact that, before they did come together, Pedrigo Pumpi- 
lion thought himself quite a model of humanity ; and 
piqued himself upon possessing much more of the 
fortiter in re than of the suaviter in modo — a mistake, 
the latter quality being latent, but abundant. He dreamed 
that he was brimming with valour, and fit, not only to 
lead squadrons to the field, but likewise to remain with 
them when they were there. At the sound of drums and 
trumpets, he perked up his chin, stuck out his breast, 
straightened his vertebral column, and believed that he, 
Pedrigo, was precisely the individual to storm a fortress 
at the head of a forlorn hope — a greater mistake. But 
the greatest error of the whole troop of blunders was his 
making a Pumpilion of Miss Seraphina Serena Dolce, 
with the decided impression that he was, while sharing 
his kingdom, to remain supreme in authority. Knowing 
nothing of the theory already broached, he took her for 
a feminine feminality, and yielded himself a victim to 
sympathy and the general welfare. Now, in this, strict- 
ly considered, Pedrigo had none but himself to blame ; 
he had seen manifestations of her spirit ; the latent energy 
had peeped out more than once ; he had entered unexpect- 
edly, before being installed as ** only my husband,'* and 
found Miss Seraphina dancing the grand rigadoon on a 
luckless bonnet which did not suit her fancy. — a species 
of exercise whereat he marvelled , and he had likewise 
witnessed her performance of the remarkable feat of 
whirling a caf which had scratched her hand, across the 



'tis only my husband. 21 

room by the tail, whereby the mirror was infinitesimally 
divided into homoeopathic doses, and whereby pussy, the 
patient, was most allopathically phlebotomised and scan- 
iied. He likewise knew that her musical education ter- 
minated in an operatic crash, the lady having in a fit of 
impatience demolished the guitar over the head of her 
teacher ; but, in this instance, the mitigatmg plea must 
be allowed that it was done because the instrument 
- wouldn't play good," a perversity to which mstru- 
ments, like lessons - which won't learn," are lament- 
ably liable. 

These little escapades, however, did not deter Fum- 
pilion. Confiding in his own talent for governing, he 
liked his Seraphina none the less for her accidental dis- 
plays of energy, and smiled to think how, under his 
administration, his reproving frown would cast oil upon 
the waves, and how, as he repressed her irritability, he 
would develope her affections, results which would both 
Bave the crockery and increase his comforts. 

Of the Pumpilion tactique in courtship some idea may 
be formed from the following conversation. Pedrigo 
had an intimate associate, some years his senior,— Mr. 
Michael Mitts, a spare and emaciated bachelor, whose 
hawk nose, crookedly set on, well represented the eccen- 
tricity of his conclusions, while the whistling pucker m 
which he generally wore his mouth betokened acidity 
of mind rendered sourer by indecision. Mitts was ad- 
dicted to observation, and, engaged in the drawing of 
inferences and in generalizing from individual instances, 
he had, like many others, while trimming the safety 
lamp of experience, suffered the time of action to pass 
by unimproved. His cautiousness was so great as te 
trammel up his - motive power," and, though long in 
tending to marry, the best part of his life had evaporated 



22 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

in the unproductive employment of '* looking about." 
His experience, therefore, had stored him with that 
species of wisdom which one meets with in theoretical 
wooers, and he had many learned saws at the ser- 
vice of those who were bolder than himself, and 
were determined to enter the pale through which he 
peeped. 

As every one in love must have a confidant, Pedrigo 
had selected Mitts for that office, knowing his peculiar 
talent for giving advice, and laying down rules for others 
to act upon. 

" Pedrigo," said Mitts, as he flexed his nose still further 
from the right line of conformity to the usages of the 
world, and slacked the drawing strings of his mouth to 
get it out of pucker ; " Pedrigo, if you are resolved upon 
marrying this identical individual — I don't see the use, for 
mv part, of being in a hurry — better look about a while , 
plenty more of 'em — but if you are resolved, the first 
ihing to be done is to make sure of her. That's unde- 
niable. The only diff'erence of opinion, if you won't 
wait and study character — character's a noble study — 
is as to the modus operandi. Now, the lady's not sure 
because she's committed; just the contrary, — that's the 
very reason she's not sure. My experience shows me 
that when it's not so easy to retract, the attention, 
especially that of young women, is drawn to retrac- 
tion. Somebody tells of a bird in a cage that grumbled 
about being cooped up. It's clear to me that the bird 
did not complain so much because it was in the cage, as 
it did because it couldn't get out — that's bird nature, and 
it's human nature too." 

" Ah, indeed !" responded Pumpilion, with a smile of 
confidence in his own attractions, mingled, however, 
with a look which spoke that the philosophy of Mitts, 



'tis only my husband. 23 

having for its object to render " assurance double sure, 
did not pass altogether unheeded. 

"It's a fact," added Mitts; "don't be too secure 
Be as assiduous and as mellifluous as you please before 
your divinity ovi^ns the soft impeachment ; but afterwards 
comes the second stage, and policy commands that it 
should be one rather of anxiety to her. You must 
every now and then play Captain Grand, or else she 
may perform the part herself. Take offence frequently ; 
vary your Romeo scenes with an occasional touch of the 
snow storm, and afterwards excuse yourself on the score 
of jealous affection; that excuse always answers. No- 
thing sharpens love like a smart tiff by way of embellish- 
ment. The sun itself would not look so bright if it were 
not for the intervention of night ; and these little agita- 
tions keep her mind tremulous, but intent upon yourself. 
Don't mothers always love the naughtiest boys best? 
haven't the worst men always the best wives ? That 
exemplifies the principle ; there's nothing like a little 
judicious bother. Miss Seraphina Serena will never 
change her mind if bothered scientifically." 

" Perhaps so; but may it not be rather dangerous?" 
" Dangerous ! not at all ; it's regular practice, I tell 
you. A few cases may terminate unluckily ; but that must 
be charged to a bungle in the doctor. Why, properly 
managed, a courtship may be continued, like a nervous 
disease, or a suit at law, for twenty years, and be as 
good|.at the close as it was at the beginning. In nine 
cases out of ten, you must either perplex or be perplexed ; 
so you had better take the sure course, and play the 
game yourself. Them's my sentiments, Mr. Speaker," 
and Michael Mitts caused his lithe proboscis to oscillate 
like a rudder, as he concluded his oracular speech, and 
puckered his mouth to the whistling place to show thai 



24 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

he had " shut up" for the present. He then walked 
slowly away, leaving Pumpilion with a " new wrin- 
kle." 

Seraphina Serena, being both fiery and coquettish 
withal, Pumpilion, under the direction of his preceptor, 
tried the " Mitts system of wooing," and although it 
gave rise to frequent explosions, yet the quarrels, whether 
owing to the correctness of the system or not, were pro- 
ductive of no lasting evil. Michael Mitts twirled his 
nose and twisted his mouth in triumph at the wedding , 
and set it down as an axiom that there is nothing like a 
little insecurity for rendering parties firm in completing 
a bargain ; that, had it not been for practising the system, 
Pumpilion might have become alarmed at the indications 
of the "latent spirit;" and that, had it not been for the 
practice of the system, Seraphina's fancy might have 
strayed. 

*♦ I'm an experimenter in mental operations, and there^s 
no lack of subjects," said Mitts to himself; "one fact 
being established, the Pumpilions now present a new 
aspect." 

There is, however, all the difference in the world 
between carrying on warfare where you may advance 
and retire at pleasure, and in prosecuting it in situations 
which admit of no retreat. Partisan hostilities are one 
thing, and regular warfare is another. Pumpilion was 
very well as a guerilla, but his genius in that respect 
was unavailing when the nature of the campaign did not 
admit of his making an occasional demonstration, and of 
evading the immediate consequences by a retreat. In a 
very few weeks, he was reduced to the ranks as " only 
my husband," and, although no direct order of the day 
was read to that efi*ect, he was " respected accordingly." 
Before that retrograde promotion took place, Pedrige 



'tis only my husband. 25 

Pumpilion cultivated his hair, and encouraged its sneaking 
inclination to curl until it wooUied up quite fiercely ; but 
afterwards his locks became broken-heartedly pendent, 
and straight with the weight of care, while his whiskers 
hung back as if asking counsel and comfort from his 
ears. He twiddled his thumbs with a slow rotary motion 
as he sat, and he carried his hands clasped behind him 
as he walked, thus intimating that he couldn't help it, 
and that he didn't mean to try. For the same reason, 
he never buttoned his coat, and wore no straps to the 
feet of his trousers ; both of which seemed too energeti- 
cally resolute for ** only my husband.' Even his hat, 
as it sat on the back part of his head, looked as if Mrs. 
Pumpilion had put it on for him, (no one but the wearer 
can put on a hat so that it will sit naturally,) and as if he 
had not nerve enough even to shake it down to its charac- 
teristic place and physiognomical expression. His per- 
sonnel loudly proclaimed that the Mitts method in matri- 
mony had been a failure, and that the Queen had given 
the King a check-mate. Mrs. Pumpilion had been 
triumphant in acting upon the advice of her friend, the 
widow, who, having the advantage of Mitts in combining 
experience with theory, understood the art of breaking 
husbands a merveille. 

*' My dear madam," said Mrs. Margery Daw, "you 
have plenty of spirit ; but spirit is nothing without stead- 
iness and perseverance. In the establishment of author- 
ity a»d in the assertion of one's rights, any intermission 
before success is complete requires us to begin again. 
If your talent leads you to the weeping method of soft- 
ening your husband's heart, you will find that if you give 
him a shower now and a shower then, he will harden in 
the intervals between the rain ; while a good sullen cr.v 
of twentv-four hours' length may prevent any necessity 



26 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

for another. If, on the contrary, you have genius for 
Ihe tempestuous, continued thunder and lightning for the 
same length of time is irresistible. Gentlemen are great 
swaggerers, if not impressively dealt with and early 
taught to know their places. They are much like 
Frisk," continued the widow, addressing her lap-dog. 
" If they bark, and you draw back frightened, they are 
sure to bite ; stamp your foot, and they soon learn to run 
into a corner. Don't they, Frisky dear ?'* 

" Ya-p !'* responded the dog : and Mrs. Pumpilion, 
tired of control, took the concurrent advice. 

^^ ^" ^^ ^p ^^ 

" To-morrow," said Pumpilion, carelessly and with 
an of-course-ish air, as he returned to tea from a stroll 
with his friend Michael Mitts, who had just been urging 
upon him the propriety of continuing the Mitts method 
after marriage, " to-morrow, my love, I leave town for 
a week to try a little trout fishing in the mountains.** 

"Mr. Pumpilion!'* ejaculated the lady, in an awful 
tone, as she suddenly faced him. " Fishing?'* 

" Y-e-e-yes,** replied Pumpilion, somewhat discom 
posed. 

" Then I shall go with you, Mr. Pumpilion,** said 
the lady, as she emphatically split a muffin. 

" Quite onpossible," returned Pumpilion, with decisive 
stress upon the first syllable ; " it's a buck party, if 
I may use the expression — a buck party entirely ; — 
there*s Mike Mitts, funny Joe Mungoozle — son 5f old 
Mungoozle's, — Tommy Titcomb, and myself. We intend 
having a rough and tumble among the hills to beneficial- 
ise our wholesomes, as funny Joe Mungoozle has it.** 

" Funny Joe Mungoozle is not a fit companion for any 
married man, Mr. Pumpilion ; and it's easy to see, by 
your sliding bacK among the dissolute friends and disso- 



*TIS ONLY MY HUSBAND. 27 

lute practices of your bachelorship, Mr. Pumpilion — by 
your wish to associate with sneering and depraved Mun- 
goozles, Mitts's, and Titcombs, Mr. Pumpilion, that the 
society of your poor wife is losing its attractions," and 
Mrs. Pumpilion sobbed convulsively at the thought. 

" I have given my word to go a fishing," replied 
Pedrigo, rather ruefully, *' and a fishing I must go. 
What would Mungoozle say ? — why, he would have a 
song about it, and sing it at the * free and easies.' " 

" What matter ? let him say — let him sing. But it's 
not my observations — it's those of funny Joe Mungoozle 
that you care for — the affections of the ' free and easy* 
carousers that you are afraid of losing." 

"Mungoozle is a very particular friend of mine, Sera- 
phina," replied Pedrigo, rather nettled. " We're going 
a fishing — that's flat !" 

*' Without me ?" 

" Without you, — it being a buck party, without excep 
tion." 

Mrs. Pumpilion gave a shriek, and falling back, threw 
out her arms fitfully — the tea-pot went by the board, as 
she made the tragic movement. 

" Wretched, unhappy woman !" gasped Mrs. Pumpi- 
lion, speaking of herself. 

Pedrigo did not respond to the declaration, but alter- 
nately eyed the fragments of the tea-pot and the un- 
touched muffin which remained on his plate. The coup 
had not been without its effect ; but still he faintly whis- 
pered, " Funny Joe Mungoozle, and going a fishing." 

" It's clear you wish to kill me — to break my heart,' 
muttered the lady in a spasmodic manner. 

*' 'Pon my soul, I don't — Pm only going a fishing." 

" I shall go distracted !" screamed Mrs. Pumpilion, 
suiting the action to the M^ord, and springing to her feet 



28 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

in such a way as to upset the table, and roll its contents 
into Pedrigo's lap, who scrambled from the debris, as 
his wife, with the air of the Pythoness, swept rapidly 
round the room, whirling the ornaments to the floor, and 
indulging in the grand rigadoon upon their sad remains. 

"You no longer love me, Pedrigo ; and without your 
love what is life ? What is this, or this, or this," con- 
tinued she, a crash following every word, " without mu- 
tual affection ? — Going a fishing !" 

" I don't know that I am," whined Pumpilion. "Per- 
haps it will rain to-morrow." 

Now it so happened that there were no clouds visible 
on the occasion, except in the domestic atmosphere ; but, 
the rain was adroitly thrown in as a white flag, indica- 
tive of a wish to open a negotiation and come to terms, 
Mrs. Pumpilion, however, understood the art of war bet- 
ter than to treat with rebels with arms in their hands. 
Her military genius, no longer "latent," whispered her 
to persevere until she obtained a surrender at discretion. 

" Ah, Pedrigo, you only say that to deceive your 
heart-broken wife. You intend to slip away — you and 
your Mungoozles — to pass your hours in roaring ini- 
quity, instead of enj eying the calm sunshine of domestic 
peace, and the gentle delights of fireside felicity. They 
are too tame, too flat, too insipid for a depraved taste. 
ThatI should ever live to see the day !" and she relapsed 
into the intense style by way of a specimen of calm de- 
light. 

Mr. and Mrs. Pumpilion retired for the night at an 
early hour ; but until the dawn of day, the words of re- 
proach, now passionate, now pathetic, ceased not; and 
in the very gray of the morning, Mrs. P. marched down 
stairs en dishabille, still repeating ejaculations about the 
Mungoozle fishing party. What happened below is not 



*TIS ONLY MV HUSBAND. 



2d 



precisely ascertained ; but there was a terrible turmoil in 
the kitchen, it being perfectly clear a whole " kettle of 
ash" was in preparation, that Pedrigo might not have the 
trouble of going to the mountains on a piscatorial expe- 
dition. 

He remained seated on the side of the bed, like Ma 
rius upon the ruins of Carthage, meditating upon the 
situation of affairs, and balancing between a surrender to 

petticoat government and his dread of Mongoozle's song 

at the " free and easies." At length he slipped down. 

Mrs. Pumpilion sat glooming at the parlour window. 

Pedrigo tried to read the " Saturday News" upside 

down. 

" Good morning, Mr. Pumpilion ! Going a fishing, 
Mr. Pumpilion I Mike Mitts, funny Joe Mungoozle, and 
Tommy Titcomb must be waiting for you— you know,' 
continued she with a mocking smile, «' you're to go this 
morning to the mountains on a rough and tumble for the 
benefit of your wholesomes. The elegance of the^phra- 
seology is quite in character with the whole aflfair." 

Pedrigo was tired out; Mrs. Margery Daw's perseve- 
rance prescription had been too much for the Mitts 
method; the widow had overmatched the bachelor. 

" No, Seraphina my dearest, Pm not going a fishing, 
if you don't desire it, and I see you don't." 

Not a word about its being likely to rain— the surren 
der was unconditional. 

*' But," added Pedrigo, *' I should like to have a -ittle 

oreakfast." 

Mrs. Pumpilion was determined to clinch the nail. 

" There's to be no breakfast here— I've been talkinp 
to Sally and Tommy in the kitchen, and 1 verily believe 
the whole world's in a plot against me. They're gone 
Mr. Pumpilion — gone a fishing, perhaps." 



30 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

The battle was over — the victory was won — the nail 
was clinched. Tealess, sleepless, breakfastless, what 
could Pedrigo do but sue for mercy, and abandon a con- 
test waged against such hopeless odds ? The supplies 
being cut off, the siege-worn garrison must surrender. 
After hours of solicitation, the kiss of amity was reluct- 
antly accorded; on condition, however, that "funny Joe 
Mungoozle" and the rest of the fishing party should be 
given up, and that he, Pedrigo, for the future should 
refrain from associating with bachelors and widowers, 
both of whom she tabooed, and consort with none but 
staid married men. 

From this moment the individuality of that once free 
agent, Pedrigo Pumpilion, was sunk into *' only my hus- 
band" — the humblest of all humble animals. He fetches 
and carries, goes errands, and lugs band-boxes and bun- 
dles ; he walks the little Pumpilions up and down the 
room when they squall o' nights, and he never comes in 
when any of his wife's distinguished friends call to visit 
her. In truth, Pedrigo is not always in a presentable 
condition ; for as Mrs. Pumpilion is de facto treasurer, 
he is kept upon rather short allowance, her wants being 
paramount and proportioned to the dignity of head of the 
family. But, although he is now dutiful enough, he at 
first ventured once or twice to be refractory. These 
symptoms of insubordination, however, were soon 
quelled — for Mrs. Pumpilion, with a significant glance, 
mquired, — 

"^re you going a fishing again, my dear 9^'' 



(31 ) 



ORSON DABBS, THE HITTITE 



It has been said, and truly, that it takes all sorts of 
people to make a world. He who complains of the lights 
and shades of character which are eternally flitting be- 
fore him, and of the diversity of opposing interests 
which at times cross his path, has but an illiberal, con- 
tracted view of the subject; and though the Emperor 
Charles the Fifth, in his retirement at Estremadura, had 
some reason for being a little annoyed when he could not 
cause two or three score of watches to go together, yet 
he was wrong in sighing over his previous ineff*ectual 
efforts to make men think alike. It is, to speak figura- 
tively, the clashing which constitutes the music. The 
harmony of the whole movement is produced by the 
fusion into each other of an infinite variety of petty dis- 
cords ; as a glass of punch depends for its excellence upon 
the skilful commingling of opposing flavours and antago- 
nismg materials. Were the passengers in a wherry to 
be of one mind, they would probably all sit upon the 
same side, and hence, naturally, pay a visit to the Davy 
Jones of the river ; and if all the men of a nation thought 
alike, it is perfectly evident that the ship of state must 
lose her trim. The system of checks and balances per- 
vades both the moral and the physical world, and without 
it, affairs would soon hasten to their end. It is, therefore, 
clear that we must have all sorts of people, — some to pre- 

'cnt stagnation, and others to act as ballast to an excess 
3 



32 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

of animation. The steam engines of humanity must have 
their breaks and their safety valves, and the dead weights 
of society require the whip and the spur. 

Orson Dabbs certainly is entitled to a place among tne 
stimulants of the world, and it is probable that in exer- 
cising his impulses, he produces beneficial effects. But it 
would puzzle a philosopher to designate the wholesome 
results which follow from his turbulent movements, or 
to show, either by synthesis or analysis, wherein he is 
a good. At all events, Orson Dabbs has the reputation 
of being a troublesome fellow in the circles upon which 
he inflicts himself; and, judging from the evidence eli- 
cited upon the subject, there is little reason to doubt the 
fact. He is dogmatical, and to a certain extent fond of 
argument ; but when a few sharp words will not make 
converts, he abandons those windy weapons with con- 
tempt, and has recourse to more forcible persuaders — a 
pair of fists, each of which looks like a shoulder of 
mutton. 

•* If people are so obstinate that they won't, or so 
stupid that they can't understand you," observed Dabbs, 
in one of his confidential moments — for Orson Dabbs 
will sometimes unbend, and suffer those abstruse maxims 
which govern his conduct to escape — " if either for one 
reason or the other," continued he, with that impressive 
iteration which at once gives time to collect and marshal 
one's thoughts, and lets the listener know that something 
of moment is coming — *'if they won't be convinced — 
easily and genteelly convinced — you must knock it into 
'em short hand ; if they can't comprehend, neither by 
due coarse of mail, nor yet by express, you must make 
'em understand by telegraph. That's the way I learnt 
ciphering at school, and manners and genteel behaviour 
at home. All I know was walloped into me. I took 



ORSON DABBS, THE HITTITE. 33 

larniii' through the skin, and sometimes they made a good 
many holes to get it in." 

*' And," timidly interjected an humble admirer of this 
great man, hazarding a joke, with an insinuating smile ; 
*' and I s'pose you're so wise now because the hide 
growed over it, and the larnin' couldn't get out, like In- 
gey ink in a sailor's arm." 

*' Jeames," replied Orson Dabbs, relaxing into a grim 
smile, like that of the griffin face of a knocker, and 
shaking his "bunch of fives" sportively, as one snaps an 
unloaded gun — Napoleon tweaked the ears of his cour- 
tiers — why should not Dabbs shake his fist at his satel- 
lites ? — " Jeames, if you don't bequit poking fun at me, 
I'll break your mouth, Jeames, as sure as you sit there. 
But, to talk sensible, walloping is the only way — it's a 
panacea for differences of opinion. You'll fmd it in his- 
tory books, that one nation teaches another whatitdidn t 
know before by walloping it ; that's the method of civil- 
izing savages — the Romans put the whole world to rights 
that way ; and what's right on the big figger must be 
right on the small scale. In short, there's nothing like 
walloping for taking the conceit out of fellows who think 
they know more than their betters. Put it to 'em strong, 
and make 'em see out of their eyes." 

Orson Dabbs acts up to these golden maxims. Seeing 
that, from disputes between dogs up to quarrels between 
nations, fighting is the grand umpire and regulator, he 
resolves all power into that of the fist, — treating bribery, 
reason, and persuasion as the means only of those 
unfortunate individuals to whom nature has denied the 
stronger attributes of humanity. Nay, he even turns up 
his nose at betting as a means of discovering truth. 
Instead of stumping an antagonist by launching out his 
cash, Dabbs shakes a portentous fist under his nose, and 
133 



34 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

the affair is settled ; the recusant must either knock under 
or be knocked down, which, according to our hero, is all 
the same in Dutch. In this way, when politics ran 
high, he used to decide who was to be elected to any 
specified office ; and he has often boasted that he once, in 
less than five minutes too, scared a man into giving the 
Dabbs candidate a large majority, when the unfortunate 
stranger did not at first believe that the said candidate 
would be elected at all. 

Some people believe that the fist is the poorest of 
arguments, and that it, therefore, should be the last. 
Here they are completely at issue with Dabbs, and it is 
well that they do not fall in his way, or he would soon 
show them the difference. With him it is what action 
was to the ancient orator, the first, the middle, and the 
last. Being himself, in a great measure, fist proof, he 
is very successful in the good work of proselytism, and 
has quite a reputation as a straightforward reasoner and 
a forcible dialectitian. 

Misfortunes, however, will sometimes happen to the 
most successful. The loftiest nose may be brought to 
the grindstone, and the most scornful dog may be obliged 
to lunch upon dirty pudding. Who can control his fate ? 
One night Mr. Dabbs came home from his "loafing" 
place — for he "loafs" of an evening, like the generality 
of people — that being the most popular and the cheapest 
amusement extant ; and, from the way he blurted open 
the door of the Goose and Gridiron, where he resides, 
and from the more unequivocal manner in which he slam- 
med it after him, no doubt existed in the minds of his 
fellow boarders that the well of his good spirits had been 
*' riled ;" or, in more familiar phrase, that he was 
" spotty on the back." His hat was pitched forward, 
with a bloodthirsty, piratical rakishness, and almost 



ORSON DABBS, THE HITTITE 35 

covered his eyes, which gleamed like ignited charcoal 
under a jeweller's blowpipe. His cheeks were flushed 
with an angry spot, and his nose — always a quarrelsome 
pug — curled more fiercely upward, as if the demon wrath 
had turned archer, and was using it for a bow to draw 
an arrow to its head. His mouth had set in opposition 
to his nasal promontory, and savagely curved downward, 
like a half-moon battery. Dabbs was decidedly out of 
sorts — perhaps beery, as well as wolfy ; in short, in that 
unenviable state in which a man feels disposed to divide 
himself, and go to buffets — to kick himself with his own 
foot — to beat himself with his own fist, and to throw his 
own dinner out of the window. 

The company were assembled round the fire to dis- 
cuss politics, literature, men, and things. Dabbs looked 
not at them, but, slinging Tommy Timid's bull terrier 
Oseola out of the arm-chair in the corner, by the small 
stump of a tail which fashion and the hatchet had left the 
animal, he sat himself moodily down, with a force that 
made the timbers creak. 'The conversation was turning 
upon a recent brilliant display of the aurora borealis^ 
whv3h the more philosopliical of the party supposed to 
arise from the north pole having become red-hot for 
want of grease ; while they all joined in deriding the po- 
pular fallacy that it was caused by the high price of flour. 

"Humph!" said Dabbs, with a grunt, "any fool 
might know that it was a sign of war." 

" War I" ejaculated the party ; " oh, your granny !" 

"Yes, war !" roared Dabbs, kicking the bull terrier 
Oseola in the ribs, and striking the table a tremendous 
blow with his fist, as, with clenched teeth and out-poked 
head, he repeated, "War! war! war!" 

Now the Goose and Gridiron fraternity set up for 
knowing geniuses, and will not publicly acknowledge 



36 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

faitli in the doctrines on meteorology broached by their 
grandmothers, wliatever they may tliink in private. So 
they quietly remarked, confiding in their numbers against 
the Orson Dabbs method of conversion, that the aurora 
was not a sign of war, but an evidence of friction and 
of no grease on the axle of the w^orld. 

" That's a lie !" shouted Dabbs ; ♦■* my story's the true 
one, for I read it in an almanac ; and to prove it true, 
I'll lick anybody here that don't believe it, in two cracks 
of a cow's thumb. Yes," added he, in reply to the looks 
bent upon him ; " I'll not only wallop them that don't 
believe it, but I'll wallop you all, whether you do or 
not !" 

This, however, was a stretch of benevolence to which 
the company were not prepared to submit. As Dabbs 
squared off to proceed secundum artem, according to the 
approved method of the schools, the watchful astrologer 
might have seen his star grow pale. He had reached 
his Waterloo — that winter night was his 18th of June. 
He fell, as many have fallen before him, by that implicit 
reliance on his own powers w^hich made him forgetful 
of the risk of encountering the long odds. The threat 
was too comprehensive, and the attempt at execution 
was a failure. The company cuffed him heartily, and 
in the fray the bull terrier Oseola vented its cherished 
wrath by biting a piece out of the fleshiest portion of his 
frame. Dabbs was ousted by a summary process, but 
his heart did not fail him. He thundered at the door, 
sometimes with his fists, and again Avith whatever missiles 
were within reach. The barking of the dog and the 
laughter from within, as was once remarked of certain 
military heroes, did not " intimate him in the least, 
U only estimated him." 

The noise at last became so great that a watchman 



ORSON DABB9, THE HITTITE. 37 

finally summoned up resolution enough to come near, 
and to take Dabbs by the arm. 

*' Let go, watchy !— let go, my cauliflower ! Your 
cocoa is very near a sledge-hammer. If it isn't hard, it 

may get cracked." 

"Pooh! pooh! don't be onasy, my darlint— my 
cocoa is a corporation cocoa-it belongs to the city, and 
they'll get me a new one. Besides, my jewel, there j^ 
two cocoas standing here, you know. Don't be onasy— 
it mayn't be mine that will get cracked." 

"I ain't onasy," said Dabbs, bitterly, as he turned 

fiercely round. " I ain't onasy. I only want to caution 

you, or I'll upset your apple cart, and spill your peaches." 

" I'm not in the wegetable way, my own-self, Mr 

Horse-radish. You must make less noise." 

" Now, look here— look at me well," said Dabbs, strik- 
ing his fist hard upon his own bosom ; *' I'm a real nine 
foot breast of a fellow— stub twisted and made of horse- 
shoe nails— the rest of me is cast iron with steel springs. 
I'll stave my fist right through you, and carry you on 
my elbow, as easily as if you were an empty market 
basket— I will— bile me up for soap if I don't!" 

" Ah, indeed ! why, you must be a real Calcutta-from- 
Canting, warranted not to cut in the eye. Snakes is no 
touch to you ; but I'm sorry to say you must knucde 
down close. You must surrender ; there's no help for 
it, — none in the world." 

" Square yourself then, for I'm coming ! Don't you 
hear the clockvorks !" exclaimed Dabbs, as he shook 
oflT the grip of the officer, and struck an attitude. 

He stood beautifully ; feet well set ; guard well up , 
admirable science, yet fearful to look upon. Like the 
Adriatic, Dabbs was " lovelily dreadful" on this excitmg 
occasion. But when " Greek meets Greek," fierce looks 



38 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

and appalling circumstances amount to nothing. The 
opponent of our hero, after regarding him coolly for a 
moment, whistled with great contempt, and with provok- 
ing composure, beat down his guard with a smart blow 
from a heavy mace, saying, — 

" 'Taint no use, no how — you're all used up for bait." 

*' Ouch !" shrieked Dabbs ; " my eye, how it hurts ! 
Don't hit me again. Ah, good man, but you're a bruiser. 
One, two, three, from you would make a person believe 
any thing, even if he was sure it wasn't true." 

"Very well," remarked the macerator, "all I want 
of you is to behave nice and genteel, and believe you're 
going to the watch'us, for it's true; and if you don't 
believe it yet, why (shaking his mace) I shall feel 
obligated to conwince you again." 

As this was arguing with him after his own method, 
and as Dabbs had distinct impressions of the force of 
the reasoning, he shrugged his shoulders, and then 
rubbing his arms, muttered, " Enough said." 

He trotted off quietly for the first time in his life. 
Since the affair and its consequences have passed away, 
he has been somewhat chary of entering into the field of 
argument, and particularly careful not to drink too much 
cold water, for fear the bull terrier before referred to was 
mad, and dreading hydrophobic convulsions. 



(39) 



ROCKY SMALT; 

OR, THE DANGERS OF IMITATION 



Man is an imitative animal, and so strong is the 
instinctive feeling to follow in the footsteps of others, 
that he who is so fortunate as to strike out a new path 
must travel rapidly, if he would avoid being run down by- 
imitators, and preserve the merit of originality. If his 
discovery be a good one, the ^^servum pecus^^ will sweep 
toward it like an avalanche ; and so quick will be their 
motion, that the daring spirit who first had the self- 
reliance to turn from the beaten track, is in danger of 
being lost among the crowd, and of having his claim to 
the honours of a discoverer doubted and derided. Turn 
where you will, the imitative propensity is to be 
found busily at work ; its votaries clustering round the 
falcon to obtain a portion of the quarry which the nobler 
bird has stricken ; and perhaps, like Sir John FalstafT, 
to deal the prize a " new wound in the thigh," and 
falsely claim the wreath of victory. In the useful arts, 
there are thousands of instances in which the real dis- 
coverer has been thrust aside to give place to the imita- 
tor ; and in every other branch in which human ingenu 
ity has been exercised, if the flock of copyists do not 
obtain the patent right of fame, they soon, where it is 
practicable, wear out the novelty, and measurably deprive 



40 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

the inventor of the consideration to which he is entitled. 
In the apportionment of applause, the praise too often 
depends upon which is first seen, the statue or the cast — 
although the one be marble, and the other plaster. 

In business, no one can hope to recommend his wares 
to patronage in a new and taking way, no matter what 
outlay of thought has been required for its invention, 
without finding multitudes prompt in the adoption of 
the same device. He who travels by a fresh and ver- 
dant path in literature, and is successful, soon hears the 
murmurs of a pursuing troop, and has his by-way con- 
verted into a dusty turnpike, macadamized on the prin- 
ciple of " writing made easy ;" while, on the stage, the 
drama groans with great ones at second-hand. The 
illustrious in tragedy can designate an army of those, 
who, unable to retail their beauties, strive for renown by 
exaggerating their defects ; and Thalia has even seen her 
female aids cut off their flowing locks, and teach them- 
selves to wriggle, because she who was in fashion wore 
a crop, and had adopted a gait after her own fancy. 

It is to this principle that a professional look is attri- 
butable. In striving to emulate the excellence of another, 
the student thinks he has made an important step if he 
can catch the air, manner, and tone of his model ; and 
believes that he is in a fair way to acquire equal wisdom, 
if he can assume the same expression of the face, and 
compass the same " hang of the nether lip." We have 
seen a pupil endeavouring to help himself onward in 
the race for distinction by wearing a coat similar in cut 
and colour to that wherewith his preceptor indued 
himself; and we remember the time when whole classes 
at a certain eastern university became a regiment of 
ugly Dromios, lengthening their visages, and smoothing 
their hair down to their eyes, for no other reason than 



ROCKY SMALT 41 

that an eminent and popular professor chose to display 
his frontispiece after that fashion — and that, as they 
emulated his literary abilities, they, therefore, thought it 
advantageous to imitate his personal defects. When 
Byron's fame was in the zenith, poetic scribblers dealt 
liberally in shirt collar, and sported an expanse of neck ; 
and when Waterloo heroes were the wonders of the 
hour, every town in England could show its limpers and 
hobblers, who, innocent of war, would fain have passed 
for men damaged by the French. On similar grounds, 
humps, squints, impediments of speech, mouths awry, 
and limbs distorted, have been the rage. 

How then could Orson Dabbs, the Hittite, admired 
and peculiar as he was, both for his ways and for his 
opinions, hope to escape imitation ? If he entertained 
such a belief, it was folly ; and if he dreamed that he 
could so thump the world as to preserve his originality, 
it was a mere delusion. Among the many who fre- 
quented the Goose and Gridiron, where Orson re- 
sided, was one Rocky Smalt, whose early admiration 
for the great one it is beyond the power of words to 
utter, though subsequent events converted that admira- 
tion into hostility. Rocky Smalt had long listened with 
delight to Orson's lectures upon the best method of 
removing difficulties, which, according to him, is by 
thumping them down, as a paviour smooths the streets ; 
and as Orson descanted, and sliook his fists in exempli- 
fication of the text, the soul of Rocky, like a bean in a 
bottle, swelled within him to put these sublime doctrines 
in practice. 

Now, it unluckily happens that Rocky Smalt is a 
very little man — one of the feather weights — which 
militates somewhat against the gratification of his pugi- 
listic desires, insomuch that if he " squares ofl*" at a big 



42 CHARCOAL SKETCHES 

fellow, he is obliged, in dealing a facer, to hit his antago- 
nist on the knee; and a blow given there, everybody 
knows, neither "bungs a peeper'* nor " taps a smeller." 
But Rocky, being to a certain degree aware of his gla- 
diatorial deficiencies, is rather theoretical than practical ; 
that is, he talks much more than he battles. His narra- 
tives, difi'ering from himself, are colossal ; and as Colos- 
sus stood with one foot on one side, and with the other 
foot on the other side, so do Rocky's speeches refer to 
the past and to the future — to what he has done, and to 
what he means to do. He is now retrospective, and 
again prospective, in talking of personal contention, his 
combats never being present, which is by far the most 
agreeable method of obtaining reputation, as we tliereby 
avoid the inconvenience of pricking our fingers in gather- 
ing glory. 

Rocky, in copying Dabbs as to his belligerent prmci- 
ples, is likewise careful to do the same, as far as it is 
possible, in relation to personal appearance. He is, 
therefore, a pocket Dabbs — a miniature Orson. He 
cultivates whiskers to the apex of the chin ; and although 
they are not very luxuriant, they make up in length 
what they want in thickness. He cocks his hat fiercely, 
rolls in his gait, and, with doubled fists, carries his arms 
in the muscular curve, elbows pointing outward, and 
each arm forming the segment of a circle. He slams 
doors after him, kicks little dogs, and swears at little 
boys, as Orson does. If any one runs against him, he 
waits until the oflender is out of hearing, and then 
denounces him in the most energetic expletives belong- 
ing to the language, and is altogether a vinaigrette of 
wrath. It is the combat only that bothers Smalt ; if it 
were not for that link in the chain of progression from 
defiance to victory, he would indeed be a most truculent 



ROCKY SMALT. 43 

hero, and deserve a salary from all the aose menders 
about town, whether natural bone-setters or gristle-tinkers 
by commission — were it not for that, Larrey's Military 
Surgery would be in continual demand, as a guide to the 
cure of contusions, and so great would be the application 
of oysters to the eye, that there would be a scarcity of 
shell-fish. 

Sometimes, however. Smalt's flaming ardour precipi- 
tates him into a quarrel ; but, even then, he manages 
matt .rs very adroitly, by selecting the largest individual 
of the opposite faction for his antagonist. 

" Come on !" shrieks Smalt, in such an emergency ; 
*' come on ! I'll lick any thing near my own weight. I'll 
chaw up any indewidooal that's fairly my match — yes, 
and give him ten pounds. 1 ain't petickelar, when it's 
a matter of accommodation. Whe-e-w ! fire away !" 

But, as Rocky's weight is just ninety-four pounds, 
counting boots, hat, dead-latch key, pennies, fips, clothes, 
and a little bit of cavendish, he is certain to escape ; for 
even the most valiant may be excused from encountering 
the long odds in a pitched battle, although he may some- 
times run against them in a crowded chance-medley. 
Rocky, therefore, puts on his coat again, puffing and 
blowing like a porpoise, as he walks vapouring about, and 
repeating with an occasional attitude a la Orson Dabbs, 
*'Any thing in reason — and a little chucked in to accommo- 
date—when I'm wound up, it 'most takes a stone wall to 
stop me, for I go right through the timber — that's me 1" 

Yet these happy days of theoretical championship at 
length were clouded. Science avails nothing against 
love : Dan Cupid laughs at sparring, and beats down the 
most perfect guard. It so fell out that Orson Dabbs and 
Rocky Smalt both were smitten with the tender passion 
at the same time, the complaint perhaps being epidemic 



a CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

at the season. This, however, though individually 
troublesome, as the disorder is understood to be a sharp 
one, would not have been productive of discord between 
them, had it not unluckily happened that they became 
enamoured of the same "fair damosel." Two warriors 
and but one lady ! — not one lady per piece, to speak 
commercially, but one lady per pair. This was embar- 
rassing — this was dangerous. Miss Araminta Stycke— 
or Miss Mint Stycke, as she was sometimes more sweetly 
termed — could not, according to legal enactments, marry 
both the gentlemen in question ; and as each was deter- 
mined to have her entire, the situation was decidedly per- 
plexing, essentially bothering, and effectively dramatic, 
which, however amusing to the looker-on, is the ne plus 
ultra of discomfort to those who form the tableau. Miss 
Araminta could doubtless have been very " happy with 
either, were t'other dear charmer away ;" but this was 
out of the question ; for, when Dabbs on one side stuck 
to Stycke, Smalt on the other side just as assiduously 
stuck to Stycke, and both stickled stoutly for her 
smiles. 

" My dear Mint Stycke," said Rocky Smalt, at a tea 
party, taking hold of a dish of plums nicely done in mo- 
lasses — " my dear Mint Stycke, allow me to help you to 
a small few of the goodies." 

" Minty, my darling I" observed Dabbs, who sat on 
her left hand. Rocky being on the right — " Minty my 
darling," repeated Dabbs, with that dashing familiarity 
so becoming in a majestic personage, as he stretched 
forth his hand, and likewise grasped the dish of plums, 
" I insist upon helping you myself." 

The consequence was an illustration of the embarras 
of having two lovers on the ground at the same time. 
The plums were spilt in such a way as to render Misf 



ROCKY SMALT. 45 

Stycke sweeter that ever, by giving " sweets to the 
sweet;" but the young lady was by no means so prctiy 
to look at as she had been before the ceremony. 

"Of the twain, she most affected" Dabbs, of which 
Rocky was not a little jealous. 

*' Minty, I don't care for Dabbs," said Rocky, in heroic 
tones ; " big as he is, if he comes here too often a crossing 
me, he'll ketch it. I'll thump him, Minty, I will — feed 
me on hay, if I don't." 

Minty laughed, and well she might, for just then Orson 
arrived, and, walking into the room, scowled fiercely at 
Smalt, who suddenly remembered " he had to go some- 
wheres, and promised to be there early — he must go, as 
it was a'most late now." 

" He thump me !" said Dabbs, with a supercilious 
smile, when Minty repeated the threat. " The next time 
I meet that chap, I'll take my stick and kill it — I'll sqush 
it with my foot." 

Unhappily for the serenity of his mind, Rocky Smalt 
had his ear at the key hole when this awful threat was 
made, and he quaked to hear it, not doubting that Dabbs 
would be as good as his word. He, therefore, fled instun- 
ter, and roamed about like a perturbed spirit; now tra- 
velling quickly — anon pausing to remember the frightful 
words, and, as they rushed vividly to mind, he would 
hop-scotch convulsively and dart off like an arrow, the 
whole being done in a style similar to that of a fish which 
has indulged in a frolic upon cocculus indicus. In the 
course of his eccentric rambles, he stopped in at various 
places, and, either from that cause, or some other which 
has not been ascertained, he waxed valiant a little after 
midnight. But, as his spirits rose, his locomotive pro- 
pensity appeared to decrease, and he, at length, sat down 
on a step. 



t6 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

" So !" soliloquized our hero : " he intends to belt me, 
does he ? Take a stick — sqush with his foot — and calls 
me * it' — 'it' right before Minty ! Powers of wengeance, 
settle on my fist, take aim with my knuckles, and shoot 
him in the eye ! If I wasn't so tired, and if I hadn't a 
little touch of my family disorder, I'd start after him. I'd 
go and dun him for the hiding ; and if he'd only squat, or 
let me stand on a chair, I'd give him a receipt in full, 
right in the face, under my own hand and seal. I'd 
knock him this-er way, and I'd whack him that-er way, 
till you couldn't tell which end of his head his face 
was on." 

Smalt suited the action to the word, and threw out his 
blows, right and left, with great vigour. 

Suddenly, however, he felt a heavy hand grasp his 
shoulder, and give him a severe shake, while a deep gruff 
voice exclaimed : 

" Halloo ! what the dense are you about ? You'll tear 
vour coat." 

** Ah !" ejaculated Smalt, with a convulsive start; 
* oh, don't ! I holler enough !" 

*' Why, little 'un, you must be cracked, if you flunk 
out before we begin. Holler enough, indeed ! nobody's 
guv' you any yet." 

** Ah !" gasped Smalt, turning round ; " I took you 
for Orson Dabbs. I promised, when I cotch'd him, to 
give him a licking, and I was werry much afeard I'd 
have to break the peace. Breaking the peace is a werry 
disagreeable thing fur to do ; but I must — I'm conshensis 
about it — when I ketches Orson. Somebody ought to 
tell him to keep out of the way, fur fear I'll have to break 
the peace." 

" It wouldn't do to kick up a row — but I'm thinking 
it would be a little jsiece, if you could break it. I'l/ 



ROCKY SMALT. 4? 

carry home all the pieces you break off, in my waist- 
coat pocket. You're only a pocket piece yourself." 

" Nobody asked your opinions — go 'way. I've got a 
job of thinking to do, and I musn'tbe disturbed — talking 
puts me out. Paddle, steamboat, or " 

** Take keer — don't persume," was the impressive 
reply ; " I'm a 'fishal functionary out a ketching of dogs. 
You musn't cut up because it's night. The mayor and 
the 'squires have gone to bed ; but the law is a thing 
that never gets asleep. After ten o'clock, the law is a 
watchman and a dog ketcher — we're the whole law till 
breakfast's a'most ready." 

" You only want bristles to be another sort of a whole 
animal," muttered Smalt. 

" Whew ! confound your little kerkus, what do you 
mean? I'd hit you unofficially, if there was any use in 
pegging at a fly." 

Smalt began to feel uneasy ; so, taking the hint con- 
veyed in the word fly, he made a spring as the com- 
mencement of a retreat from one who talked so fieicely 
and so disrespectfully. But he had miscalculated his 
powers. After running a few steps, his apprehensions 
overthrew him, and his persecutor walking up, said . 

" Oh ! you stumpy little peace-breaker, I knows whai 
you have been about — you've been drinking." 

" You nose it, hey ? — much good may it do you 
Can't a man wet his whistle without your nosing it?" 

" No, you can't — it's agin the law, which is very fuK 
upon this pint." 

" Pint ! Not the half of it — I haven't got the stowage 
room." 

The *' ketcher" laughed, for, notwithstanding their 
sanguinary profession, ketchers, like Lord Norbury, are 
Baid to love a joke, and to indulge in merriment, when 



48 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

ever the boys are not near. He therefore picked up 
Smalt, ana placing him upon his knee, remarked as 
follows : 

" You're a clever enough kind of little feller, sonny ; 
but you ain't been eddicated to the law as I have ; so I'll 
give you a lecture. Justice vinks at vot it can't see, and 
lets them off vot it can't ketch. When you want to break 
It, you must dodge. You may do what you like in your 
own house, and the law don't know nothing about the 
matter. But never go thumping and bumping about 
the streets, when you are primed and snapped. That's 
intemperance, and the other is temperance. But now you 
come under the muzzle of the ordinance — you're a 
loafer." 

" Now, look here — I'll tell you the truth. Orson 
Dabbs swears he'll belt me — yes, he calls me * it' — he 
said he'd sqush me with his foot — he'd take a stick and 
kill ' it' — me, I mean. What am I to do ? — there'll be a 
tight, and Dabbs will get hurt." 

" He can't do what he says — the law declares he 
musn't ; and if he does, it isn't any great matter — he'll 
be put in limbo, you know." 

This, however, was a species of comfort which had 
very little effect upon Smalt. He cared nothing about 
what might be done with Orson Dabbs after Orson had 
done for him. 

His new friend, however, proved, as Smalt classically 
remarked, to be like a singed cat, much better than he 
looked, for he conducted the Lilliputian hero home, and, 
bundling him into the entry, left him there in comfort 
Rocky afterwards removed to another part of the town, 
for the purpose of keeping clear of his enemy, and, with 
many struggles, yielded the palm in relation to Miss 
Araminta Stycke, who soon became Mrs. Orson Dabbs 



ROCKY SMALT. 49 

AftPr this event, Rocky Smalt, who is not above the 
useful employment of gathering a little wisdom from 
experience, changed his system, and now speaks belli- 
gerently only in reference to the past, his gasconading 
stories invariably beginning, "A few years age, when I 
was a fighting carackter." 



1S4 



(50) 



UNDEVELOPED GENIUS. 

A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF P. PILGARLIC* 

PIGWIGGEN, ESQ. 



The world has heard much of unwritten music, and 
more of unpaid debts ; a brace of unsubstantialities, in 
which very little faith is reposed. The minor poets 
have twangled their lyres about the one, until the sound 
has grown wearisome, and UDtil, for the sake of peace and 
quietness, we heartily wish that unwritten music were 
fairly written down, and published in Willig's or Blake's 
best style, even at the risk of hearing it reverberate from 
every piano in the city ; while iron-visaged creditors^ 
all creditors are of course hard, both in face and in 
heart, or they would not ask for their money — have 
chattered of unpaid debts, ever since the flood, with a wet 
finger, was uncivil enough to wipe out pre-existing scores, 
and extend to each skulking debtor the *' benefit of the 
act." But undeveloped genius, which is, in fact, itself 
unwritten music, and is very closely allied to unpaid 
debts, has, as yet, neither poet, trumpeter, nor biographer 
Gray, indeed, hinted at it in speaking of " village Hamp- 
dens," " mute inglorious Miltons," and " Cromwelis 
guiltless," which showed him to be man of some dis- 
cernment, and possessed of inklings of the truth. But 
the general science of mental geology, and through that, 
the equally important details of mental mineralogy and 



UNDEVELOPED GENIUS. 51 

mental metallurgy, to ascertain the unseen substratum 
of intellect, and to determine its innate wealth, are as 
yet unborn ; or, if phrenology be admitted as a branch 
of these sciences, are still in uncertain infancy. Unde- 
veloped genius, therefore, is still undeveloped, and is 
likely to remain so, unless this treatise should awaken 
some capable and intrepid spirit to prosecute an investi- 
gation at once so momentous and so interesting. If not, 
much of it will pass through the world undiscovered and 
unsuspected ; while the small remainder can manifest 
itself in no other way than by the aid of a convulsion, 
turning its possessor inside out like a glove ; a method, 
which the earth itself was ultimately compelled to adopt, 
that stupid man might be made to see what treasures 
are to be had for the digging. 

There are many reasons why genius so often remains 
invisible. The owner is frequently unconscious of the 
jewel in his possession, and is indebted to chance for 
the discovery. Of this, Patrick Henry was a striking 
instance. After he had failed as a shopkeeper, and was 
compelled to " hoe corn and dig potatoes,'* alone on his 
little farm, to obtain a meagre subsistence for his family, 
he little dreamed that he had that within, which would 
enable him to shake the throne of a distant tyrant, and 
nerve the arm of struggling patriots. Sometimes, how- 
ever, the possessor is conscious of his gift, but it is to 
him as the celebrated anchor was to the Dutchman ; he 
can neither use nor exhibit it. The illustrious Thomas 
Erskine, in his first attempt at the bar, made so signal a 
failure as to elicit the pity of the good natured, and the 
scorn and contempt of the less feeling part of the auditory. 
Nothing daunted, however, for he felt undeveloped 
genius strong within him, he left the court; muttering, 
with more profanity than was proper, but with much 



52 



CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 



truth, " By ! it is in me, and it shall come out!" 

He was right; it was in him ; he did get it out, and 
rose to be Lord Chancellor of England. 

But there are men less fortunate ; as gifted as Erskine, 
though perhaps in a different way, they swear frequently, 
as he did, but they cannot get their genius out. They 
feel it, like a rat in a cage, beating against their barring 
ribs, in a vain struggle to escape ; and thus, with the 
materials for building a reputation, and standing high 
among the sons of song and eloquence, they pass their 
lives in obscurity, regarded by the few who are aware 
of their existence, as simpletons — fellows sent upon the 
stage solely to fill up the grouping, to applaud their 
superiors, to eat, sleep, and die. 

P. PiLGARLicK PiGwiGGEN, Esq., as hc loves to be 
styled, is one of these unfortunate undeveloped gentle- 
men about town. The arrangement of his name shows 
him to be no common man. Peter P. Pigwiggen would 
be nothing, except a hailing title to call him to dinner, 
or to insure the safe arrival of dunning letters and tailors' 
bills. There is as little character about it as about the 
word Towser, the individuality of which has been lost 
by indiscriminate application. To all intents and pur- 
poses, he might just as well be addressed as " You Pete 
Pigwiggen," after the tender maternal fashion, in which, 
in his youthful days, he was required to quit dabbling in 
tl»e gutter, to come home and be spanked. But 




UNDEVELOPED GENIUS. 53 

— the aristocracy of birth and genius is all about it. The 
very letters seem tasselled and fringed with the cobwebs 
of antiquity. The flesh creeps with awe at the sound, 
and the atmosphere undergoes a sensible change, as at 
the rarefying approach of a supernatural being. It pene- 
trates the hearer at each perspiratory pore. The drop- 
ping of the antepenultimate in a man's name, and the 
substitution of an initial therefor, has an influence which 
cannot be defined — an influence peculiarly strong in the 
case of P. Pilgarlick Pigwiggen — the influence of unde- 
veloped genius — analogous to that which bent the hazel 
rod, in the hand of Dousterswivel, in the ruins of St. 
Ruth, and told of undeveloped water. 

But to avoid digression, or rather to return from a ram- 
ble in the fields of nomenclature, P. Pilgarlick Pigwig- 
gen is an undeveloped genius — a wasted man ; his talents 
are like money in a strong box, returning no interest. He 
is, in truth, a species of Byron in the egg : but unable to 
chip the shell, his genius remains unhatched. The 
chicken moves and faintly chirps within, but no one sees 
it, no one heeds it. Peter feels the high aspirations and 
the mysterious imaginings of poesy circling about the 
interior of his cranium ; but there they stay. .When he 
attempts to give them utterance, he finds that nature for- 
got to bore out the passage which carries thought to the 
tongue and to the finger ends ; and as art has not yet 
found out the method of tunnelling or of driving a drift 
into the brain, to remedy such defects, and act as a gene- 
ral jail delivery to the prisoners of the mind, his divine 
conceptions continue pent in their osseous cell. In vain 
does Pigwiggen sigh for a splitting headache — one that 
shall ope the sutures, and set his fancies free. In vain 
does he shave his forehead and turn down his shirt col- 
lar, in hope of finding the poetic vomitory, and of leaving 



A i CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

it Jear of impediment ; in vain does he drink vast quan- 
tu«€s of gin to raise the steam so high that it may burst 
im«igination's boiler, and suffer a few drops of it to 
esrape ; in vain does he sit up late o' nights, using all 
the cigars he can lay his hands on, to smoke out the 
secret. 'Tis useless all. No sooner has he spread the 
paper, and seized the pen to give bodily shape to airy 
dreams, than a dull dead blank succeeds. As if a flourish 
of the quill were the crowing of a " rooster," the dainty 
Ariels of his imagination vanish. The feather drops 
from his checked fingers, the paper remains unstained, 
and P. Pilgarlick Pigwiggen is still an undeveloped 
genius. 

Originally a grocer's boy, Peter early felt he had a 
soul above soap and candles, and he so diligently nou- 
rished it with his master's sugar, figs, and brandy, that 
early one morning he was unceremoniously dismissed 
with something more substantial than a flea in his ear. 
His subsequent life was passed in various callings ; but 
call as loudly as they would, our hero paid little attention 
to their voice. He had an eagle's longings, and with an 
inclination to stare the sun out of countenance, it was 
not to be expected that he would stoop to be a barn-yard 
fowl. Working when he could not help it; at times 
pursuing check speculations at the theatre doors, by 
way of turning an honest penny, and now and then 
gaining entrance by crooked means, to feed his faculties 
with a view of the performances, he likewise pursued 
his studies through all the ballads in the market, until 
qualified to read the pages of Moore and Byron. 
Glowing with ambition, he sometimes pined to see 
the poet's corner of our weekly periodicals graced 
with his effusions. But though murder may out, his 
nndeveloped genius would not. Execution fell so far 



UNDEVELOPED GENIUS. 55 

short of conception, that his lyrics were invariably 
rejected. 

Deep, but unsatisfactory, were the reflections which 
thence arose in the breast of Pigwiggen. 

*' How is it," said he — '* how is it I can't level down 
my expressions to the comprehension of the vulgar, or 
level up the vulgar to a comprehension of my expres- 
sions ? How is it I can't get the spigot out, so my 
verses will run clear ? I know what I mean myself, but 
nobody else does, and the impudent editors say it's wast- 
ing room to print what nobody understands. I've plenty 
of genius — lots of it, for I often want to cut my throat, 
and would have done it long ago, only it hurts. I'm 
chock full of genius and running over ; for I hate all sorts 
of work myself, and all sorts of people mean enough to 
do it. I hate going to bed, and I hate getting up. My 
conduct is very eccentric and singular. I have the mise- 
rable melancholies all the time, and I'm pretty nearly 
always as cross as thunder, which is a sure sign. 
Genius is as tender as a skinned cat, and flies into a 
passion whenever you touch it. When I condescend to 
unbuzzum myself, for a little sympathy, to folks of ornery 
intellect — and caparisoned to me, I know very few 
people that ar'n't ornery as to brains — and pour forth 
the feelings indigginus to a poetic soul, which is always 
biling, they ludicrate my sitiation, and say they don't 
know what the dense I'm driving at. Isn't genius al- 
ways served o' this fashion in the earth, as Hamlet, the boy 
after my own heart, says ? And when the slights of the 
world, and of the printers, set me in a fine frenzy, and 
my soul swells and swells, till it almost tears the shirt 
off* my buzzum, and even fractures my dickey — when it 
expansuates and elevates me above the common herd, 
they laugh again, and tell me not to be pompious. The 



56 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

poor plebinians and worse than Russian scurfs ! — It ia 
the fate of genius — it is his'n, or rather I should say, 
her'n — to go through life with little sympathization and 
less cash. Life's a field of blackberry and raspberry 
bushes. Mean people squat down and pick the ^uit, 
no matter how they black their fingers ; while genius, 
proud and perpendicular, strides fiercely on, and gets 
nothing but scratches and holes tore in its trousers. 
These things are the fate of genius, and when you see 
'em, there is genius too, although the editors won't pub- 
lish its articles. These things are its premonitories, its 
janissaries, its cohorts, and its consorts. 

" But yet, though in flames in my interiors, I can't 
get it out. If I catch a subject, while I am looking at it, 
I can't find words to put it in ; and when I let go, to hunt 
for words, the subject is ofT like a shot. Sometimes 1 
have plenty of words, but then there is either no ideas, 
or else there is such a waterworks and cataract of them, 
that when I catch one, the others knock it out of my 
fingers. My genius is good, but my mind is not suffi- 
ciently manured by 'ears." 

Pigwiggen, waiting it may be till sufficiently *' ma- 
nured" to note his thoughts, was seen one fine morning 
not long since, at the corner of the street, with a me- 
lancholy, abstracted air, the general character of his 
appearance. His garments were of a nisty black, much 
the worse for wear. His coat was buttoned up to the 
throat, probably for a reason more cogent than that of 
showing the moulding of his chest, and a black hand 
kerchief enveloped his neck. Not a particle of white 
was to be seen about him ; not that we mean to infer 
tjiat his " sark" would not have answered to its name, if 
th^ muster roll of his attire had been called, for we scorn 
V) speak of a citizen's domestic relations, and, until the 



UNDEVELOPED GENIUS. 57 

cohtiary is proved, we hold it but charity to believe that 
every man has as many shirts as backs. Peter's cheeks 
were pale and hollow ; his eyes sunken, and neither 
joap nor razor had kissed his lips for a week. His 
hands were in his pockets — they had the accommodation 
all to themselves — nothing else was there. 

*'Is your name Peter P. Pigwiggen ?" inquired a 
man, with a stick, which he grasped in the middle. 

" My name is P Pilgarlick Pigwiggen, if you please, 
my good friend," replied our hero, with a flush of indig- 
nation at being miscalled. 

*' You'll do," was the nonchalant response ; and " the 
man with a stick" drew forth a parallelogram of paper, 
curiously Inscribed with characters, partly written and 
partly printed, of which the words, " The commonwealth 
greeting," were strikingly visible ; " you'll do, Mr. P. 
Pilgarlick Pigwiggen Peter. That's a capias ad respon- 
denduin, the English of which is, you're cotched because 
you can't pay ; only they put it in Greek, so's not to 
hurt a gentleman's feelings, and make him feel flat afore 
the company. I can't say much for the manners of the 
big courts, but the way the law's polite and a squire's 
office is genteel, when the thing is under a hundred 
dollars, is cautionary." 

There was little to be said. Peter yielded at or ^e 
His landlady, with little respect for the incipient Byron, 
had turned him out that morning, and had likewise sent 
*' the man with a stick" to arrest the course of undeve- 
loped genius. Peter walked before, and he of the " taking 

way" strolled leisurely behind. 

* * * « * * 

" It's the fate of genius, squire. The money is owed. 
^ut how can I help it? I can't live without eating and 



58 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

sleeping If I wasn't to do those functionaries, it would 
be suicide, severe beyond circumflexion." 

" Well, you know, you must either pay or go to jail." 
* Now, squire, as a friend — I can't pay, and I don't 
admire jail — as a friend, now." 

" Got any bail ? — No ! — what's your trade — what name 
is it?" 

*' Poesy," was the laconic, but dignified reply. 

"Pusey? — Yes, I remember Pusey. You're in the 
shoe-cleaning line, somewhere in Fourth street. Pusey, 
ooots and shoes cleaned here. Getting whiter, ar'n't 
you ? I thought Pusey was a little darker in the counte- 
nance." 

" P-o-e-s-y !" roared Peter, spelling the word at the 
top of his voice ; " I'm a poet." 

*' Well, Posy, I suppose you don't write for nothing. 
Why didn't you pay your landlady out of what you 
received for your books, Posy ?" 

*' My genius ain't developed. I haven't written any 
thing yet. Only wait till my mind is manured, so I can 
catch the idea, and I'll pay off all old scores." 

"'Twont do. Posy. I don't understand it at all. 
You must go and find a little undeveloped bail, or I 
must send you to prison. The officer will go with you. 
But stay ; there's Mr. Grubson in the corner — perhaps 
he will bail you." 

Grubson looked unpromising. He had fallen asleep, 

and the flies hummed about his sulky copper-coloured 

visage, laughing at his unconscious drowsy efforts to 

drive them away. He was aroused by Pilgarlick, who 

nsinuatingly preferred the request. 

" I'll see you hanged first," replied Mr. Grubson ; " I 
goes bail for nobody. I'm undeveloped myself on thai 



UNDEVELOPED GENIUS. 



59 



g^;,ject,— not but that I have the greatest respect for you 
in the world, but the most of people's cheats." 

" You see, Posy, the development won't answer 
You must try out of doors. The ofEcer will go with 



you" 



" Squire, as a friend, excuse me," said Pilgarlick. 
*' But the truth of the matter is this. I'm delicate about 
being seen in the street with a constable. I'm prmcipled 
against it. The reputation which I'm going to get might 
be injured by it. Wouldn't it be pretty much the same 
thing, if Mr. Grubson was to go with the officer, and get 

me a little bail?" 

»' I'm delicate myself," growled Grubson ; " I m prm- 
cipled agin that too. Every man walk about on his own 
»sponsibility ; every man bail his own boat. You might 
jist as well ask me to swallow your physic, or take your 

thrashings." 

Alas ' Pilgarlick knew that his boat was past bailing. 
Few are the friends of genius in any of its stages-very 
few are they when it is undeveloped. He, therefore, 
consented to sojourn in -Arch west of Broad," until the 
whitewashing process could be performed, on condition 
he were taken there by the - alley way ;" for he sti 
looks ahead to the day, when a hot-pressed volume shall 
be published by the leading booksellers, entitled Poems, 
by P. Pilgarlick Pigwiggen, Esq. 



( 60 ) 



THE BEST-NATURED MAN IN THE 

WORLD. 



A YIELDING temper, when not carefully watched and 
curbed, is one of the most dangerous of faults. Like un- 
regulated generosity, it is apt to carry its owner into a 
thousand difficulties, and, too frequently, to hurry him 
into vices, if not into crimes. But as it is of advantage 
to others while inflicting- injury upon its possessor, it 
has, by the common consent of mankind, received a fine 
name, which covers its follies and promotes its growth. 
This easiness of disposition, which is a compound of in- 
dolence, vanity, and irresolution, is known and applauded 
as " good-nature;" and, to have reached the superlative 
degree, so as to be called the " best-natured fellow in the 
world — almost too good-natured for his own good," is 
regarded as a lofty merit. AVhen applied to the proper 
person, thougli the recipient says nothing, it may be 
seen that it thrills him with delight ; the colour height- 
ens on his cheek ; and the humid brilliance of his eye 
speaks him ready to weep with joy over his own fancied 
perfections, and to outdo all his former outdoings. He 
is warmed through by the phrase, as if he had been feast- 
"ng upon preserved ginger, and he luxuriates upon the 
sensation, without counting the cost, and without calcu- 
lating the future sacrifices which it requires. He seldom 
sees why he is thus praised. He is content that it is so, 



THE BEST-NATURED MAN IN THE WORLD. 61 

witliout inquiring into the process by which it was 
brought about. It is enough for him that he is the best- 
natured fellow in the world, and the conclusion generally 
shows that, in phrase pugilistic, it is "enough." There 
are few kinds of extravagance more ruinous than that of 
indulging a desire for being excessively good-natured, as 
the good-natured pussy learnt when the monkey used her 
paw to draw chestnuts from the fire. A man of circum- 
scribed means may, with comparative safety, keep horses 
and dogs, drink Champagne and Burgundy bet upon 
races and upon cock-fights ; he may even gratify a taste 
for being very genteel — for these things may subside into 
moderation ; but being very good-natured, in the popular 
acception of the phrase, is like the juvenile amusemen* 
of sliding down Market street hill on a sled. The further 
one goes, the greater is the velocity ; and, if the momen- 
tum be not skilfully checked, we are likely to land in the 

water. 

The " best-natured fellow in the world" is merely 
a convenience ; very useful to others, but worse than 
useless to himself. He is the bridge across the brook, 
and men walk over him. He is the wandering pony of 
the Pampas, seeking his own provender, yet ridden by 
those who contribute not to his support. He giveth up 
all the sunshine, and hath nothing but chilling shade for 
liimself. He waiteth at the table of the world, serveth 
the guests, who clear the board, and, for food and pay, 
give him fine words, which culinary research hath long 
since ascertained cannot be used with profit, even in the 
buttering of parsnips. He is, in fact, an appendage, not 
an individuality ; and when M^orn out, as he soon must 
be, is thrown aside to make room for another, if another 
can be had. Such is the result of excessive compliance 
and obsequious good-nature. It phmdereth a man of hi*j 



62 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

spine, and converteih him into a flexile willow, to be 
bent and twisted as his companions choose, and, should 
it please them, to be wreathed into a fish-basket. 

Are there any who doubt of this ? Let them inc^uire 
for one Lemter Salix, and ask his opinion. Leniter 
may be ragged, but his philosophy has not so many 
holes in it as might be inferred from the state of his 
wardrobe. Nay, it is the more perfect on that account ; 
a knowledge of the world penetrates the more easily 
when, from defective apparel, we approach the nearer 
to our original selves. Leniter's hat is crownless, and 
the clear light of knowledge streams without impediment 
upon his brain. He is not bound up in the strait jacket 
of prejudice, for he long since pawned his solitary vest, 
and his coat, made for a Goliath, hangs about him as 
loosely as a politician's principles, or as the purser's shirt 
in the poetical comparison. Salix has so long bumped 
hie head against a stone wall, that he has knocked a hole 
in it, and like Cooke, the tragedian, sees through his 
error. He has speculated as extensively in experience 
as if it were town lots. The quantity of that article he 
has purchased, could it be made tangible, would freight 
a seventy-four; — were it convertible into cash, Croesus, 
King of Lydia, son of Halyattes, would be a Chelsea 
pensioner to Salix. But unluckily for him, there are 
stages in life when experience itself is more ornamental 
than useful. When, to use a forcible expression — when, 
a man is *' done," — it matters not whether he has as much 
experience as Samson had hair, or as Bergami had whis- 
ker — he can do no more. Salix has been in his time so 
much pestered with dujis, " hateful to gods and men,' 
that he is done himself. 

" The sun was rushing down the west," as Banim 
has it, attending to its own business, and, by that means, 



THE BEST-NATURED MAN IN THE WORLD. 63 

shedding benefit upon the world, when Leniter Salix 
was seen in front of a little grocery, the locale of which 
shall be nameless, sitting dejectedly upon a keg of mack- 
erel, number 2. He had been " the best-natured fellow 
in the world," but, as the geologists say, he was in a 
state of transition, and was rapidly becoming up to trap 
At all events, he had his nose to the grindstone, an ope- 
ration which should make men keen. He was house- 
less, homeless, penniless, and the grocery man had asked 
him to keep an eye upon the dog, for fear of the mid- 
summer catastrophe which awaits such animals when their 
snouts are not in a bird cage. This service was to be 
recompensed with a cracker, and a glass of what the 
shopman was pleased to call racky mirackilis, a fluid 
sometimes termed "railroad," from the rapidity witli 
which it hurries men to the end of their journey. Like 
many of the best-natured fellows in the world, Salix, by 
way of being a capital companion, and of not being differ- 
ent from others, had acquired rather a partiality for riding 
on this " railroad," and he agreed to keep his trigger eye 
on the dog. 

" That's right, Salix. I always knowcd you were the 
best-natured fellow in the world." 

" H-u-m-p-s-e!" sighed Salix, in a prolonged, plain- 
.ve, uncertain manner, as if he admitted the fact, but 
doubted the honour; " h-u-m-p-s-e ! but, if it wasn't for 
the railroad, which is good for my complaint, because I 
take it internally to drive out the perspiration, I've a sort 
of a notion Carlo might take care of himself. There's 
the dog playing about without his muzzle, just because 
I'm good-natured ; there's Timpkins at work making 
money inside, instead of watching his own whelp, just 
because I'm good-natured ; and I'm to sit here doing 
nothing instead of going to get a little job a man promised 



64 CHARCOAL SKETCHES 

me down towr., just because I'm good-natured. I can't 
see exactly what's the use of it to me. It's pretty much 
like having a bed of your own, and letting other people 
sleep in it, soft, while you sleep on the bare floor, hard. 
It wouldn't be so bad if you could have half, or quarter 
of the bed; but no — these good friends of mine, as I 
may say, turn in, take it all, roll themselves up in the 
kivering, and won't let us have a bit of sheet to mollify 
the white pine sacking bottom, the which is pleasant to 
whittle with a sharp knife — quite soft enough for that 
purpose — but the which is not the pink of feather beds. 
I don't like it — I'm getting tired." 

The brow of Salix began to blacken — therein having 
decidedly the advantage of his boots, which could nei- 
ther blacken themselves, nor prevail on their master to do 
it — when Mrs. Timpkins, the shopman's wife, popped 
out with a child in her arms, and three more trapesing 
after her. 

" Law, Salix, how-dee-doo ? I'm so glad — I know 
you're the best-natured creature in the world. Jist hold 
little Biddy a while, and keep an eye on t'other young 
'uns — you're such a nurse — he ! he ! he ! — so busy— i 
ain't got no girl — so busy washing — most tea time- 
he ! he! he! Salix." 

Mrs. Timpkins disappeared, Biddy remained in the 
arms of Salix, and *' t'other young 'uns" raced about 
with the dog. The trigger eye was compelled to invoke 
the aid of its coadjutor. 

*' Whew!" whistled Salix; "the quantity of pork 
ihey give in this part of the town for a shilling is ama- 
zin' — I'm so good-natured ! That railroad will be well 
earnt, anyhow. I'm beginning to think it's queer there 
ain't more good-natured people about besides me — I'm 
a sort of mayor and corporation all myself in this busi- 



THE BEST-NATURED MAN IN THE WORLD. 65 

ness. It's a monopoly where the profit's all loss. Now, 
for instance, these Timpkinses won't ask me to tea, be- 
cause I'm ragged ; but they ar'n't a bit too proud to ask 
me to play child's nurse and dog's uncle — they won't 
lend me any money, because I can't pay, and they're per- 
simmony and sour about cash concerns — and they won't 
let me have time to earn any money, and get good 
clothes — that's because I'm so good-natured. I've a good 
mind to strike, and be sassy." 

*' Hallo ! Salix, my good fellow !" said a man, (»n a 
horse, as he rode up ; " you're the very chap I'm looking 
for. As I says to my old woman, says I, Leniter Salix 
is the wholesoul'dest chap I ever did see. There's nothing 
he won't do for a friend, and I'll never forget him, if 1 
was to live as old as Methuselah." 

Salix smiled — Hannibal softened rocks with vinegar, 
but the .stranger melted the ice of our hero's resolution 
with praise. Salix walked towards him, holding the child 
with one hand as he extended the other for a friendly 
shake. 

" You're the best-natured fellow in the world, Salix," 
ejaculated the stranger, as he leaped from the saddle, 
and hung the reins upon Salix's extended fingers, in' 
stead of shaking hands with him ; " you're the best- 
natured fellow in the world. Just hold my horse a mi- 
nute. I'll be back in a jiifey, Salix ; in less than half an 
hour," said the dismounted rider, as he shot round the 
corner. 

" If that ain't cutting it fat, I'll be darned!" growled 
Salix, as soon as he had recovered from his breathless 
amazement, and had gazed from dog to babe — from horse 
to children. 

" Mr. Salix," screamed Miss Tabitha Gadabout from 

the next house, " I'm just running over to Timpson's 
135 



06 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

place. Keep an eye on my street door — back in 9 
minute." 

She flew across the street, and as she went, the 
words *'best natured-soul alive" were heard upon tho 
breeze. 

*' That's considerable fatter — it's as fat as show beef," 
said Salix. " How many eyes has a good-natured fellow 
got, anyhow? Three of mine's in use a'ready. The 
good-natureder you are, the more eyes you have, I s'pose. 
That job up town's jobbed without me, and where I'm 
to sleep, or to eat my supper, it's not the easiest thing 
in the world to tell. Ain't paid my board this six months, 
I'm so good-natured ; and the old woman's so good- 
natured, she said I needn't come back. These Timp- 
kinses and all of 'em are ready enough at asking me 

to do things, but when I ask them There, that dog's 

off, and the ketchers are coming — Carlo ! Carlo !" 

The baby began squalling, and the horse grew restive , 
the dog scampered into the very teeth of danger ; and the 
three little Timpkinses, who could locomote, went 
scrabbling, in different directions, into all sorts of mischief, 
until finally one of them pitched head foremost into a 
cellar. 

Salix grew furious. *' Whoa, pony ! — hush, you mfer- 
nal brat I — here. Carlo! — Thunder and crockery ! — there's 
a young Timpkins smashed and spoilt ! — knocked into a 
cocked hat !" 

*' Mr. Salix !" shouted a boy, from the other side of 
the way, " when you're done that 'ere, mammy says 
if you won't go a little narrand for her, you're so good- 
nater'd." 

There are moments when calamity nerves us ; when 
wild frenzy congeals into calm resolve ; as one may see 
oy penning a cat in a corner. It is then that the coward 




' There ! that dog's oflF, aud the ketchers are comin'— Carlo ! Carlo V'—Book I, 

page 66. 



THE BEST-NATURED MAN IN THE WORLD. 67 

fights ; that the oppressed strikes at the life of the oppres- 
sor. That moment had come to Salix. He stood bolt 
upright, as cold and as straight as an icicle. His good- 
nature might be seen to drop from him in two pieces, 
like Cinderella's kitchen garments in the opera. He 
laid Biddy Timpkins on the top of the barrel, released 
the horse, giving him a vigorous kick, which sent him 
flying down the street, and strode indignantly away, 
leaving Carlo, Miss Gadabout's house, and all other 
matters in his charge, to the guardianship of chance. 

"^ l^f 'f* "T^ '^ "T* 

The last time Salix was seen in the busy haunts of 
men, he looked the very incarnation of gloom and de- 
spair. His very coat had gone to relieve his necessities, 
and he wandered slowly and dejectedly about, relieving 
the workings of his perturbed spirit by kicking whatever 
fell in his way. 

" I'm done," soliloquized he ; " pardenership between 
me and good-nature is this day dissolved, and all persons 
.'ndebted will please to settle with the undersigned, who 
alone is authorized. Yes, there's a good many indebted, 
and its high time to dissolve, when your pardener has sold 
all the goods and spent all the money. Once 1 had a 
little shop — ah! wasn't it nice? — plenty of goods and 
plenty of business. But then comes one troop of fellows, 
and they wanted tick — I'm so good-natured ; then comes 
another set of chaps, who didn't let bashfulness stand in 
their way a minute; they sailed a good deal nearer the 
wind, and wanted to borry money — I'm so good-natured ; 
and more asked me to go security. These fellows were 
always very particular friends of mine, and got what 
they asked for ; but I was a very particular friend of 
theirs, and couldn't get it back. It was one of the 
good rules that won't work both ways ; and I, somehow 



68 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

or other, was at the wrong end of it, for it wouldn't 
work my way at all. There's few rules that will, bar- 
ring substraction, and division, and alligation, when our 
folks allegated against me that I wouldn't come to no 
good. All the cypherin' I could ever do made more 
come to little, and little come to less ; and yet, as I said 
afore, I had a good many assistants too. 

** Business kept pretty fair; but I wasn't cured. 
Because I was good-natured, I had to go with 'em fro- 
licking, tea partying, excursioning, and busting ; and for 
the same reason, I was always appinted treasurer to 
make the distribution when there wasn't a cent of sur- 
plus revenue in the treasury, but my own. It was my 
job to pay all the bills. Yes, it was always ' Salix, you 
know me' — ' Salix, pony up at the bar, and lend us a 
levy' — ' Salix always shells out like a gentleman.' — Oh ! 
to be sure, and why not ? — now I'm shelled out myself— 
first out of my shop by old venditioni exponas^ at the 
State House — old fiery fash his to me directed. But 
they didn't direct him soon enough, for he only got the 
fixtures. The goods had gone out on a bust long before 
I busted. Next, I was shelled out of my boarding 
house ; and now," (with a lugubrious glance at his shirt 
and pantaloons,) "I'm nearly shelled out of my clothes. 
It's a good thing they can't easy shell me out of my 
skin, or they would, and let me catch my death of cold. 
I'm a mere shell-fish — an oyster with the kivers off. 

*' But, it was always so — when I was a little boy, 
they coaxed all my pennies out of me ; coaxed me to 
take all the jawings, and all the hidings, and to go first 
into all sorts of scrapes, and precious scrapings they 
used to be. I wonder if there isn't two kinds of people — 
one kind that's made to chaw up t'other kind, and t'other 
kind that's made to be chawed up by one kind? — cat- 



THE BEST-NATURED MAN IN THE WORLD. 69 

jtind of people and mouse-kind of people ? I guess there 

is — I'm very much mouse myself. 

" What I want to know is what's to become of me. 

I've spent all I had in getting my eddication. Learnin', 

they say, is better than houses and lands. I wonder if 

anybody would swap some house and land with me for 

mine ? I'd go it even, and ask no boot. They should 

have it at prime cost ; but they won't ; and I begin to be 

afraid I'll have to get married, or list in the marines. 

That's what most people do when they've nothing to 

do." 

****** 

What became of Leniter Salix immediately, is imma- 
terial ; what will become of him eventually, is clear 
enough. His story is one acting every day, and, thougn 
grotesquely sketched, is an evidence of the danger ot an 
accommodating disposition when not regulated by pru- 
dence. The softness of '* the best-natured fellow in the 
world" requires a large admixture of hardening alloy to 
give it the proper temper. 



(70) 



A PAIR OF SLIPPERS; 

OR, FALLING' WEATHER. 



" Then I, and you, and all of us fell down." 

Whenever we look upon the crowded thoroughfare, 
or regard the large assembly, we are compelled to admit 
that the infinite variety of form in the human race contri- 
butes largely to the picturesque. The eye travels over 
the diversity of shape and size without fatigue, and re- 
news its strength by turning from one figure to another, 
when, at each remove, it is sure to find a difference. 
Satiated with gazing at rotundity, it is refreshed by a 
glance at lathiness ; and, tired with stooping to the lowly, 
it can mount like a bird to the aspiring head which tops 
a maypole. But, while the potency of these pictorial 
beauties is admitted, it must be conceded that the varia- 
tions from the true standard, although good for the eye- 
sight, are productive of much inconvenience ; and that, to 
consider the subject like a Benthamite, utility and the 
general advantage would be promoted if the total amount 
of flesh, blood, bone, and muscle were more equally dis- 
tributed. As aff*airs are at present arranged, it is almost 
impossible to find a " ready made coat" that will answer 
jne's purpose, and a man may stroll through half the 
shops in town without being able to purchase a pair of 
boots which he can wear with any degree of comfort. In 



A PAIR OF SLIPPEllS. 71 

hanging a lamp, every shop keeper, who " lights up," 
knows that it is a very trouble?*^me matter so to swing 
it, that, while the short can see the commodities, the tall 
will not demolish the glass. If an abbreviated " turnippy" 
man, in the goodness of his heart and in articulo mortis, 
bequeaths his wardrobe to a long and gaunt friend, of 
what service is the posthumous present ? It is available 
merely as new clothing for the juveniles, or as something 
toward another kitchen carpet. Many a martial spirit is 
obliged to content himself with civic employment, al- 
though a mere bottle of fire and wrath, because heroism 
is enlisted by inches, and not by degree. If under " five 
foot six," Caesar himself could find no favour in the eye 
of the recruiting sergeant, and Alexander the Great 
would be allowed to bestride no Bucephalus in a dragoon 
regiment of modern times. Thus, both they who get too 
much, and they who get too little, in Dame Nature's ap- 
portionment bill, as well as those who, though abundantly 
endowed, are not well made up, have divers reasons for 
grumbling, and for wishing that a more perfect uniformity 
prevailed. 

Some of the troubles which arise from giving a man 
more than his share in altitude, find illustration in the 
subjoined narrative : — 

Linkum Langcale is a subject in extenso. He is, to 
use the words of the poet, suggested by his name. 



-« A bout" 



" Of linked sweetness long drawn out ••" 

and, in speaking of him, it is not easy to be brief. Lis. 
kum is entirely too long for his own comfort — something 
short — if the word sliort may be used in this connexion 
— something short of the height of the Titans of old, who 
pelted Saturn with brickbats ; but how much has never 



72 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

yet been ascertained, none of his acquaintances beln^ 
sufficiently acquainted with trigonometry to determine 
the fact. He is one of those men who, like the gentle 
Marcia, *' tower above their sex," and must always be 
called down to their dinner, as no information can be 
imparted to them unless it be hallooed up ; and in con- 
versing with whom, it is always necessary to begin by 
hailing the maintop. There is not, however, more 
material in Linkum than enough for a man of ordinary 
length. The fault is in his not being properly made up. 
He is abominably wire drawn — stretched out, as Shak- 
speare says, almost to the crack of doom. It is clear 
that there has been an attempt to make too much of 
him, but the frame of the idea has not been well filled 
out. He is the streak of a Colossus, and he resembles 
the willow wand at which Locksley shot his gray goose 
shaft in. the lists of Ashby de la Zouche. The conse- 
quence is, that Linkum is a crank vessel. If he wore a 
feather in his cap, he would be capsized at every corner ; 
and as it is, he finds it very difficult to get along on a 
windy day, without a paving stone in each coat pocket 
to preserve the balance of power. He is, however, of a 
convivial nature, and will not refuse his glass, notwith- 
standing the aptitude of alcohol to ascend into the brain, 
and so to encumber it as to render a perpendicular 
position troublesome to men shorter than himself. When 
in this condition, his troubles are numberless, and among 
other matters, he finds it very difficult to get a clear fall, 
there being in compact cities very little room to spare 
for the accommodation of long men tumbling down in 
he world. 

One evening Linkum walked forth to a convivial 
meeting, and supped with a set of jolly companions 
liate at night a rain came on, which froze as it fell, and 



A PAIR OF SLIPPERS. 73 

soon made the city one universal slide, sufficiently 
*' glip" for all purposes, without the aid of saw-dust. 
Of Linkum's sayings and doings at the social board, no 
record is preserved ; but it is inferred that his amuse- 
ments were not of a nature to qualify him for the safe 
performance of a journey so slippery as that which it 
was necessary to undertake to reach home. No lamps 
were lighted, they who were abroad being under the 
necessity of supposing the moonshine, and of seeing 
their way as they walked, or of gathering themselves up 
when they fell, by the lantern of imagination, 

" Good night, fellers," said Linkum, at the top of the 
steps, as the door closed after him. He pulled his hat 
over his eyes determinedly, buttoned his coat with 
resolution, and sucked at his cigar with that iron energy 
peculiar to men about to set forth on their way home on a 
cold, stormy night. The fire of the cigar reflected from 
his nose was the only illumination to be seen ; and 
Linkum, putting his hands deep into his pockets, kept 
his position on the first step of the six which were 
between him and the pavement. 

" I've no doubt," said he, as he puffed forth volumes 
of smoke, and seemed to cogitate deeply — " I've not the 
slightest doubt that this is as beautiful a night as ever 
was ; only it's so dark you can't see the pattern of it. 
One night is pretty much like another night in the dark ; 
but it's a great advantage to a good looking evening, if 
the lamps are lit, so you can twig the stars and the 
moonshine. The fact is, that in this 'ere city, we do 
grow the blackest moons, and the hardest moons to find, 
i ever did see. Sometimes I'm most disposed to send 
the bellman after 'em — or get a full blooded pinter to 
pint 'em out, while I hold a candle to see which way he 
pints. It wouldn't be a bad notion on sich occasions to 



74 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

ask the man in the steeple to ring which way the moon 
is. Lamps is lamps, and moons is moons, in a business 
pint of view, but practically they ain't much if the 
wicks ain't afire. When the luminaries are, as I may 
say, in the raw, it's bad for me. I can't see the ground 
as perforately as little fellers, and every dark night I'm 
sure to get a hyst — either a forrerd hyst, or a backerd 
hyst, or some sort of a hyst — but more backerds than 
forrerds, 'specially in winter. One of the most unfeel- 
ing tricks I know of, is the way some folks have 
got of laughing out, yaw-haw ! when they see a gen- 
tleman ketching a riggler hyst — a long gentleman, 
for instance, with his legs in the air, and his noddle 
splat down upon the cold bricks. A hyst of itself is 
bad enough, without being sniggered at : first, your 
sconce gets a crack ; then, you see all sorts of stars, 
and have free admission to the fireworks ; then, you 
scramble up, feeling as if you had no head on your 
shoulders, and as if it wasn't you, but some confounded 
disagreeable feller in your clothes ; yet the jacksnipes 
all grin, as if the misfortunes of human nature was only 
a poppet show. I wouldn't mind it, if you could get up 
and look as if you didn't care. But a man can't rise, 
after a royal hyst, without letting on he feels flat. In 
such cases, however, sympathy is all gammon ; and as 
for sensibility of a winter's day, people keep it all for 
their own noses, and can't be coaxed to retail it by the 
small." 

Linkum paused in his prophetic dissertation upon 
" hysts" — the popular pronunciation, in these parts, of 
the word hoist, which is used — quasi lucus a non 
lucendo — to convey the idea of the most complete tum- 
ble which man can experience. A fall, for instance, is 
indeterminate. It may be an easy slip down — a gentle 



A PAIR OF SLIPPERS. 75 

visitation of mother earth ; but a hyst is a rapid, forcible 
performance, which may be done, as Linkum observes, 
either backward or forward, but of necessity with such 
violence as to knock the breath out of the body, or it is 
unworthy of the noble appellation of hyst. It is an apt, 
but figurative mode of expression, and it is often carried 
still further ; for people sometimes say, " lower him up, 
and hyst him down." 

Our hero held on firmly to the railing, and peered 
keenly into the darkness, without discovering any object 
on which his vision could rest. The gloom was sub- 
stantial. It required sharper eyes than his to bore a 
hole in it. The wind was up, and the storm continued 
to coat the steps and pavements with a sheet of ice. 

"It's raining friz potatoes," observed Linkum; "I 
feel 'em, though I can't see 'em, bumping the end of my 
nose ; so I must hurry home as fast as I can." 

Heedless and hapless youth ! He made a vain attempt 
to descend, but, slipping, he came in a sitting posture 
upon the top step, and, in that attitude, flew down like 

lightning bump ! bump ! bump ! The impetus he had 

acquired prevented him from stopping on the sidewalk, 
notwithstanding his convulsive efforts to clutch the icy 
bricks, and he skuted into the gutter, whizzing over the 
curbstone, and splashing into the water, like a young 
Niagara. 

A deep silence ensued, broken solely by the pattering 
of the rain and the howling of the wind. Linkum was 
an exhausted receiver ; the hyst wrs perfect, the breath 
being completely knocked out of him. 

" Laws-a-massy !" at length he panted, " ketching" 
breath at intervals, and twisting about as if in pain ; " my 
eyes ! sich a hyst ! Sich a quantity of hysts all in one ! 
The life's almost bumped out of me, and I'm jammed 



7G CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

up SO tight, I don't believe I'm so tall by six inches as 1 
was before. I'm druv' up and clinched, and I'll have to 
get tucks in my trousers." 

Linkum sat still, ruminating on the curtailment of 
his fair proportions, and made no effort to rise. The 
door soon opened again, and Mr. Broad Brevis came 
forth, at which a low, suppressed chuckle was uttered 
by Linkum, as he looked over his shoulder, anticipating 
" a quantity of hysts all in one" for the new comer, 
whose figure, however, — short and stout, — was much 
belter calculated for the operation than Linkum's. But 
Brevis seemed to suspect that the sliding was good, and 
the skating magnificent. 

" No, you don't !" quoth he, as he tried the step with 
one foot, and recovered himself; " I haven't seen the 
Alleghany Portage and inclined planes for nothing. It 
takes me to diminish the friction, and save the wear and 



tear." 



So saying, he quietly tucked up his coat tails, and 
sitting down upon the mat, which he grasped with both 
hands, gave himself a gentle impulse, crying "All aboard I" 
and slid slowly but majestically down. As he came to 
the plain sailing across the pavement, he twanged forth 
" Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ra-tra-a-a !" in excellent imitation of the 
post horn, and brought up against Linkum. " Clear the 
course for the express mail, or I'll report you to the 
department!" roared Brevis, trumpeting the "alarum," 
so well known to all who have seen a tragedy — " Tra- 
tretra-ta-ra-tra-a-a !" 

That's queer fun, anyhovi^," said a careful wayfarer, 
turning the corner, with lantern in hand, and sock on 
foot, who, after a short parley, was induced to set the 
gentlemen on their pins. First planting Brevis against 
the pump, who sang " Let me lean on thee," from the 



A PAIR OF SLIPPERS. 77 

Sonnambiila, in prime style, he undertook to lift up 
Linkum. 

" Well," observed the stranger, " this is a chap with- 
out no end to him — he'd be pretty long a drowning, any 
how. If there w^as many more like him in the gutters, 
it Avould be better to get a windlass, and wind 'em up 
I never see'd a man with so much slack. The corpora- 
tion ought to buy him, starch him up stiff, cut a hole for 
•a clock in his hat, and use him for a steeple ; only 
Downing wouldn't like to trust himself on the top of 
such a ricketty concern. — Neighbour, shall I fetch the 
Humane Society's apparatus?" 

" No — I ain't drownded, only bumped severe. The 
curbstones have touched my feelings. I'm all over like 
a map — red, blue, and green." 

" Now," said their friendly assistant, grinning at the 
joke, and at the recompense he had received for the job, 
" now, you two hook on to one another like Siameses, 
and mosey. You've only got to tumble one a top of 
t'other, and it won't hurt. Tortle off — it's slick going — 
'specially if you're going down. Push ahead !" con- 
tinued he, as he hitched them together ; and away they 
went, a pair of slippers^ arm in arm. Many were their 
tumbles and many their mischances before they reached 
their selected resting place. 

" I can't stand this," said Linkum to his companion, 
as they were slipping and falling; " but it's mostly owing 
to my being so tall. I wish I was razee'd, and then it 
wouldn't happen. The awning posts almost knock the 
head off me ; I'm always tumbling over wheelbarrows, 
dogs, and children, because, if I look down, I'm certain 
to knock my noddle against something above. It's a com- 
plete nuisance to be so tall. Beds are too short ; if you 
ffo to a tea-fight, the people are always tumbling over 



78 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

your trotters, and breaking their noses, which is what 
young ladies ain't partial to ; and if you tipple too much 
toddy of a slippery night — about as easy a thing to do as 
you'd wish to try — you're sure to get a hyst a square long 
— ^just such a one as I've had. If I'd thought of it, I 
could have said the multiplication table while I was going 
the figure. Stumpy chaps, such as you, ain't got no 
troubles in this world." 

" That's all you know about it," puffed Brevis, as 
Linkum alternately jerked him from his feet, and then 
caused him to slide in the opposite direction, with his 
heels ploughing the ice, like a shaft horse holding back : 
*' phew ! That's all you know about it — stumpies have 
troubles." 

*' I can't borrow coats," added Linkum, soliloquiz- 
ing, " because I don't like cuffs at the elbows. I can't 
borrow pants, because it isn't the fashion to wear knee- 
breeches, and all my stockings are socks. I can't hide 
when anybody owes me a lambasting. You can see me 
a mile. When I sit by the fire, I can't get near enough 
to warm my body, without burning my knees ; and in a 
stage-coach, there's no room between the benches, and 
the way you get the cramp — don't mention it." 

" I don't know nothing about all these things ; but to 
imagine I was a tall chap " 

*' Don't try ; you'll hurt yourself, for it's a great stretch 
of imagination for a little feller to do that." 

After which amicable colloquy, nothing more was 
heard of them, except that, before retiring to rest, triey 
chuckled over the idea that the coming spring would 
sweat the ice to death for the annoyance it had caused 
them But ever while they live, will they remember 
•' the night of hysts." 



(79) 



INDECISION. 



" An obstinate temper is very disagreeable, particularly in a wife ; 
ft passionate one very shocking in a child ; but for one's own parti- 
cular comfort, Heaven help the possessor of an irresolute one ! — Its 
day of hesitation — its night of repentance — the mischief it does — the 
misery it feels ! — its proprietor may well say, * Nobody can tell what 
'I suffer but myself!'" 

We know not to whom the remarks above quoted are 
to be attributed, but every observer of human actions will 
acquiesce in their justice. There are few misfortunes 
greater than the possession of an irresolute mind. Other 
afflictions are temporary in their nature ; the most inve- 
terate of chronic diseases leaves the patient his hours of 
comfort ; but he who lacks decision of character must 
cease to act altogether before he can be released from the 
suffering it occasions. It is felt, whether the occasion 
be great or small, whenever there is more than one method 
of arriving at the same end, and it veers like a girouette 
at the aspect of alternatives. One can scarcely go so far 
as the poet, who quaintly says : 

" li needs but this, be bold, bold, bold; 
'Tis every virtue told — 
Honour and truth, hxvmanity and skill, 
The noblest charity the mind can will" 

But the lines are pregnant with meaning. The curse o* 

.ndecision impedes the growth of virtue, and renders our 

best powers comparatively inoperative. 
6 



80 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

It would certainly be the parent of interminable con- 
fusion if all men were qualified to lead in the affairs of 
the world. The impulse to direct and to command is 
almost irrepressible. He who is born with it instinct- 
ively places himself at the head of a movement, and 
clutches the baton of authority as if it had been his play- 
thing from infancy. Even in the sports of childhood, 
the controlling and master spirit of the merry group is to 
oe detected at a glance ; and, if three men act together 
for a day, the leading mind discovers and assumes its 
place. The inferior in mental power sink rapidly to their 
appropriate station ; the contemplation of an emergency 
tends to convince them that they are incompetent to head^ 
the column, and, although they may grumble a little, 
they soon fall quietly into the ranks. It, therefore, 
would not answer if all men had that self-reliance and 
that iron will which are the essential ingredients in the 
composition of a leading mind. The community would 
be broken up into a mob of generals, with never a soldier 
to be had for love or money. There would be no more 
liarmony extant than there is in the vocal efforts of a 
roomfuU of bacchanalians, when each man singeth his 
own peculiar song, and hath no care but that he may 
be louder than his boon companions. Our time would 
be chiefly spent in trying to disprove the axiom, that 
when two men ride a horse one must ride behind. Each 
pony in the field would have riders enough ; but, instead 
of jogging steadily toward any definite end, he who was 
in the rear would endeavour to clamber to the front, and 
thus a species of universal leap-frog would be the order 
of the day. Great results could not be achieved, for action 
in masses would be a thing unheard of, and the nations 
would be a collection of unbound sticks. 

Yet the cultivation of the energies to a certain extent 



INDECISION. 81 

is a matter of import to the welfare and happiness of 
e^ery individual. We are frequently placed in circum- 
stances in which it is necessary to be our own captain- 
general ; and, with all deference to the improving spirit 
of the time, and to the labours of the many who devote 
themselves to the advancement of education, it must be 
confessed that the energies do not always receive the at- 
tention to which they are entitled. It is true there is an 
abundance of teaching ; we can scarcely move without 
coming in contact with a professor of something, who, 
in the plenitude of his love for his fellows, promises, for 
the most trifling consideration, to impart as much if not 
more than he knows himself, in a time so incrediblf^ 
short that, if we were not aware of the wonder-working 
power of the high pressure principle, we should not be- 
lieve it ; but no one has yet appeared in the useful character 
of a " Professor of Decision" — no one has yet thought it 
a good speculation to teach in six lessons of an hour 
each, the art of being able without assistance speedily to 
make up the mind upon a given subject, and to keep it 
made up, like a well-packed knapsack. There are arith- 
meticians and algebraists in plenty ; but the continent 
may be ranged without finding him who can instruct us 
how to solve, as Jack Downing would express it, a " tuff 
sum" in conduct, and to act unflinchingly upon the 
answer; and ingenuity has discovered no instrument to 
screw the mind to the sticking place. Now, although 
humility may be a very amiable characteristic, and defer- 
ence to the opinions of others a very pleasing trait, yet 
promptness in decision and boldness in action form the 
best leggins with which to scramble through the thistles 
and prickles of active life ; and a professor of the kind 
alluded to w^ould doubtless have many pupils from the 

ranks of those who have, by virtue of sandry tears 
136 



82 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

and scratches, become anxious for a pair of nether in 
teguments of that description. At least, he might rely 
upon 

DUBERLY DOUBTINGTON, 

THE MAN WHO COULDN'T MAKE UP HIS MIND 



*' Leah, tell your master dinner's been waiting for him 
this hour." 
^ " He can't come, mem ; — the man's with him yet, 



mem." 



*' Whatman?" 

" The solumcolly man, mem ; — the man that stays so 
.ong, and is always so hard to go." 

Every one who has visiters is aware of the great 
difference among them in the matter referred to by Leah. 
In fact, they may be divided into two classes — visiters 
who are " easy to go" and administer themselves, accord- 
ing to Hahnemann, in homoeopathic doses, and visiters 
who are *'hard to go," and are exhibited in quantity, in 
conformity with regular practice. 

The individual who was guilty of keeping Mr. Edax 
Rerum from his dinner was Duberly Doubtington, a 
man who couldn't make up his mind — a defect of cha- 
racter which rendered him peculiarly hard to go, and 
made him responsible for having caused many to eat 
their mutton cold. It was Juliet who found, 

" Parting such sweet sorrow, 
That she could say good night till it be morrow /" 

and Duberly's farewells are equally interminable. When 
ne has once fairly effected a lodgment, he is rooted to 



DUBERLY DOUBTINGTON. 83 

the spot. It IS as difficult for him to go off, as it frequent- 
ly is for stage heroes to make their pistols shoot. But, 
though it is hard for him to go, yet he finds it quite easy 
to be hours in going. By way of preparation, he first 
reaches his hat, and " smooths its raven down." He 
then lays it aside again for the greater convenience of 
drawing on a glove, and that operation being completed, 
the gauntlet is speedily drawn off that he may adjust his 
side-locks. Much time being consumed in these inte- 
resting preliminaries, he has no difficulty at all in em- 
ploying an additional hour when once fairly upon his 
legs. He discourses over the back of his chair, he 
pauses at the parlour door, he hesitates in the hall, and 
rallies manfully on the outer steps. The colder the 
weather the more determined his grasp upon his victim, 
having decidedly the advantage over the resident of the 
mansion, in being hatted, coated, and gloved. In this 
way, indeed, he deserves a medal from the faculty for 
cutting out doctor's work, especially in influenza times. 
The straps and buckles of Duberly's resolution will 
not hold, no matter how tightly he may pull them up, 
and he has suffered much in the unphilosophic attempt 
to sit upon two stools. When he starts upon a race, an 
unconsidered shade of opinion is sure to catch him by 
the skirt, and draw him back. He is, in a measure, 
Fabian in policy. He shifts his position continually, 
and never hazards an attack. His warfare is a succes- 
sion of feints and unfinished demonstrations, and he has 
been aptly likened to a leaden razor, M^hich looks sharp 
enough, but will turn in the cutting. He is in want of 
a pair of mental spectacles ; for he has a weakness in the 
optic nerve of his mind's eye which prevents him, in 
regarding the future, from seeing beyond the nose of the 
present movement. The chemistry of events, which 



84 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

figures out ulterior results from immediate combination 
and instant action, is a science as yet unknown to Du- 
berly, Doubtington. He cannot tell what to think ; he 
knows not what to do. The situations in which he is 
placed have never occurred to him before ; the lights of 
experience are wanting, and he is therefore perplexed 
in the labyrinth. Like the fabled coffin of INIohammed, 
he is always in a state of " betweenity." He is, in short, 
as a forcible writer well observes, one of those unfortu- 
nate people who seldom experience " the sweet slumber 
of a decided opinion,'''' 

Such is the moral man of Duberly Doubtington, and 
his physical man betrays traits of indecision equally as 
strong. He tries to encourage his heart by cocking his 
beaver a la militaire, but its furry fierceness cannot 
contradict the expression of the features it surmounts. 
His eyebrows form an uncertain arch, rising nearly an 
inch above the right line of determination, and the button 
of his nose is so large and blunt as to lend any thing but 
a penetrating look to his countenance. His under lip 
droops as if afraid to clench resolutely with its antago- 
nist; and his whiskers hang dejectedly down, instead of 
bristling like a chevaux defrise toward the outer angle 
of the eye. The hands of Mr. Doubtington always 
repose in his pockets, unwilling to trust to their own 
means of support, and he invariably leans his back 
against the nearest sustaining object. When he walks, 
his feet shuffle here and there so dubiously that one may 
swear they have no specific orders where to go ; and so 
indefinite are the motions of his body, that even the tails 
of his coat have no characteristic swing. They look, 
not like Mr. Doubtington's coat-tails, but like coat-tails 
in the abstract — undecided coat-tails, that have not yet 
got the hang of anybody's back, and have acquired no 



DUBERLY DOUBTINGTON. 85 

more individuality than those which dangle at the shop 
doors in Water street. 

Duberiy Doubtington was at one time tolerably com 
fortable in his pecuniary circumstances. His father had 
been successful in trade, and, of course, thought it un- 
necessary to teach his children to make up their minds 
about any thing but enjoying themselves. This neglect, 
however, proved fatal to the elder Doubtington. 

That worthy individual being taken one warm summer 
afternoon with an apoplectic fit, the younger Doubtington 
was so perplexed whether or not to send for a physician 
and if he did, what physician should be called in — 
whether he should or should not try to bleed him with 
a penknife, and whether it was most advisable to have 
him put to bed up stairs or to leave him upon the sofa 
down stairs, — that the old gentleman, being rather pressed 
for time, could not await the end of the debate, and 
quietly slipped out of the world before his son could 
make up his mind as to the best method of keeping him 
in it. In fact, it was almost a chance that the senior 
Doubtington obtained sepulture at all, as Duberiy could 
not make up his mind where that necessary business 
should take place ; and he would have been balancing the 
pros and cons of the question to this day, if some other 
person, more prompt of decision, had not settled the 

matter. 

Duberiy Doubtington was now his own master. 
There were none entitled to direct, to control, or to 
advise him. He was the Phaeton of his own fortunes, and 
could drive the chariot where he pleased. But, although 
he had often looked forward to this important period 
with much satisfaction, and had theorised upon it with 
great delight, yet in practice he found it not quite so well 
adapted to his peculiar abilities as he thought it would 



86 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

be. A share of decision is required even by those who 
are placed beyond the necessity of toiling for bread. The 
disposition of his means frequently called on him to 
resolve upon a definite course, 

" I regard it as a very fair investment, Mr. Doubt- 
ington," said his broker ; " your money is useless 
where it is." 

* But, what do you advise? — under the circumstances, 
what should I do ?" replied Duberly. 

" Of course, I don't pretend to direct. I want no un- 
necessary responsibility. There's no knowing what 
may happen these slippery times. I think the chance a 
good one ; but make up your mind about it." 

There are people who talk about making up one's 
mind as if it were a task as easy as to eat a dinner, or 
as if it were as purely mechanical as driving a nail, or 
putting on a pair of old familiar boots. 

" I pay that man for attending to my business,'* 
muttered Duberly, " and yet he has the impudence to 
tell me to make up my mind ! — That's the very thing I 
want him to do for me. The tailor makes my clothes — 
Sally makes my bed — nature makes my whiskers, and 
John makes my fires ; yet I must be bothered to make 
up my mind about money matters ! I can't — the greatest 
nuisances alive are these responsibility shifting people ; 
and, if some one would tell me who else to get to attend 
to my business, I'd send that fellow flying." 

Difiicult, however, as he supposed it would be, Duber- 
Iv at length found a gentleman manager of his pecuniary 
affairs, who never troubled him to make up his mind, 
with what results shall appear anon. 

Duberly could not resolve whether it was the best 
policy to travel first in the old world or in the new, and 
he therefore did neither ; but as time is always heavy on 



DUBERLY DOUBTINGTON. 87 

the hands of those who have much of it at disposal, and 
as it is difficult to lounge eternally at home, or in the 
street, he slowly established what the iScoich call a 
*' hov/f for each portion of the day. In the morning 
he dozed over the newspapers at a reading room ; be- 
tween noon and the dinner hour, he lolled upon three 
chairs at the office of his friend Capias the lawyer, by 
way of facilitating that individual's business ; the after- 
noon was divided between whittling^ switches at home 
and riding to some popular resort, v/here he cut his name 
upon the table. In the evening, if he did not yawn at 
the theatre, he visited some hospitable mansion, where 
the elders were good natured and the juniors agreeable. 

At the house of Mrs. St. Simon Sapsago, a bouncing 
widow, with a dashing son, and a pair of daughters, 
Mr. Duberly Doubtington was invariably well received ; 
for, although he could not make up his mind, he was in 
other respects so " eligible" that Mrs. St. Simon Sapsago 
was always pleased to see him, and willing that he 
should either listen or talk as much as he liked within 
her doors. Miss Ethelinda St. Simon Sapsago was a 
very pretty girl ; and, for some reason or other, comported 
herself so graciously to Duberly, that, when troubled to 
form a conclusion, he usually asked her advice, and to his 
great satisfaction, was sure to receive it in a comfortable, 
decisive way. 

** Miss Ethelinda, I'm trying to make up my mind 
about coats ; but I can't tell whether I like bright but- 
tons or not. Nor do I know exactly which are the 
nicest colours. I do wish there was only one sort of 
buttons, and only one kind of colour ; the way every 
thing is now, is so tiresome — one's perpetually both- 
ered." 

So Ethelinda St. Simon Sapsago, with her sweetest 



88 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

smile, would give her views upon the subject, to Duber- 
ly's great delight. In fact, she was his " council's con- 
sistory ;" or, as the Indians have it, she was his "sense- 
bearer," a very important item in the sum total of one's 
domestic relations. 

But, though these consultations were very frequent, 
still Duberly said nothing to the purpose, notwithstand- 
ing the fact that every one looked upon it as a " settled 
thing," and wanted to know when it was to be. Duberly 
Doubtington, however, never dreamed of matrimony ; or 
if he did, it only floated like a vague mist across the 
distant horizon of his speculative thoughts. He regarded 
it as a matter of course that, at some period or other, he 
should have a wife and children — just as we all expect 
either to be bald, or to have gray hairs, and to die : but 
he shivered at the idea of being called on to make up his 
mind on such a step. He had a faint hope that he 
\vould be married, as it were, imperceptibly ; tliat it 
would, like old age, steal upon him by degrees, so that he 
might be used to it before he found it out. The connu- 
bial state, however, is not a one into which a Doubtington 
can slide by degrees ; there is no such thing as being im 
perceptibly married, a fact of which Mrs. and Miss St. 
Simon Sapsago were fully aware, and, therefore, resolved 
to precipitate matters by awakening Duberly's jealousy. 

Ethelinda became cold upon giving her advice on the 
subject of new coats and other matters. Indeed, when 
asked by Duberly whether she did not think it would be 
better for him to curtail his whiskers somewhat during 
the summer months, she went so far as to say that she 
didn't care what he did with them, and that she never 
had observed whether he wore huge corsair whiskers, or 
lawyerlike apologies. Duberly was shocked at a 
defection so flagrant on the part of his "sense-bearer." 



DUBERLY DOUBTINGTON. 89 

Insult his whiskers ! — he couldn't make up his mind 
what to think of it. 

But still more shocked was he when he observed that 
she smiled upon Mr. Adolphus Fitzflam, who cultivated 
immense black curls, latitudinarian whiskers, black 
moustaches, with an imperial to match — Fitzflam, who 
made it the business of his life to " do the appalling," and 
out-haired everybody except the bison at the " Zoolo- 
gical Institute." Duberly felt uncomfortable ; he was not 
in love — at least he had never found it out — but he was 
troubled with a general uneasiness, an oppression, a de- 
pression, and a want of appetite. " Gastric derangement," 
said the quack advertisements, and Duberly took a box 
of pills: "but one disease," said the newspapers, and 
Duberly swallowed another box of pills, but without 
relief. Whenever Fitzflam approached, the symptoms 
returned. 

"I can't make up my mind about it," said Duberly; 

•' but I don't think I like that buffalo fellow, Fitzflam 

Why don't they make him up into mattrasses, and stuff 

cushions with whatever's left?" 

****** 

" Mr. Doubtington, isn't Augustus Fitzflam a duck ?" 
said Ethelinda one evening when they were left tete-d- 
tete ; *' such beautiful hair!" 

" I can't tell whether he's a duck or not," said Du- 
berly, dryly, "I haven't seen much more of him than the 
tip of his nose; but, if not a member of the goose 
family, he will some day share the fate of the man I saw 
at Fairmount — be drowned in his own locks.^^ 

*' But he looks so romantic — so piratical — as if he had 
something on his mind, never slept, and had a silent 
sorrow here " 



90 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

"He had better try a box of the vegetable pills,' 
thought Duberly. 

" Well, I do declare it's not surprising that so many 
have fallen in love with Adolphus Fitzflam," and Miss 
Ethelinda St. Simon Sapsago breathed a scarcely per- 
ceptible sigh. 

Duberly started — his eyes were opened to his own 
complaint at once, and somehow or other, without 
making up his mind, he hurriedly declared himself. 

"Speak to my ma," faintly whispered Miss Ethelin- 
da St. Simon Sapsago. 

"To-morrow," replied Duberly Doubtington, taking 
a tender, but rapid farewell. 

Duberly was horror-struck at his own rashness. He 
tossed and rolled all night, trying to make up his mind 
as to the propriety of his conduct. He stayed at home 
all day for the same purpose, and the next day found 
him still irresolute. 

" Mrs. St. Simon Sapsago's compliments, and wishes 
to know if Mr. Duberly Doubtington is ill." 

"No!" 

Three days more, and yet the mind of Mr. Doubting- 
ton was a prey to perplexity. 

Mr. Julius St. Simon Sapsago called to ask the 
meaning of his conduct, and Duberly promised to inform 
him when he had made up his mind. 

Mr. Adolphus Fitzflam, as the friend of Julius St. S. 
Sapsago, with a challenge. 

" Leave your errand, boy," said Doubtington, angrily, 
*and go." 

Fitzflam winked at the irregularity, and retreated. 

Duberly lighted a cigar with the cartel, and puflfed 
away vigorously 



DUBERLY DOUBTINGTON. 91 

• What's to be done ? — marry, or be shot ! I don't 
Uke either — at least, I've come to no conckision on the 
subject. When I've made up my mind, I'll let 'em 
know — plenty of time." 

No notice being taken of the challenge, Mr. Julius St. 
Simon Sapsago assaulted Mr. Doubtington in the street 
with a horsewhip, while Fitzilam stood by to enjoy the 
sport. There is nothing like a smart external application 
to quicken the mental faculties, and so our hero found it. 

*' Stop !" said he, dancing a la Celeste. 

"You're a scoundrel!" cried Julius, and the whip 
cracked merrily. 

*' I've made up my mind !" replied Duberly, suddenly 
shooting his clenched fist into the countenance of ihe 
flagellating Julius, who turned a backward summerset 
over a wheelbarrow. Fitzflam lost his hat in an abrupt 
retreat up the street, and he was fortunate in his swift- 
ness, for, "had all his hairs been lives," Duberly would 
have plucked them. 

But, from this moment, the star of Duberly Doubting- 
ton began to wane. The case of Sapsago versus Doubt- 
ington, for breach of promise of marriage, made heavy 
inroads upon his fortune. His new man of business, 
who took the responsibility of managing his money 
affairs without pestering him for directions, sunk the 
whole of his cash in the Bubble and Squeak Railroad and 
Canal Company, incorporated with banking privileges 
Doubtington, therefore, for once was resolute, and turned 
politician ; and in this capacity it was that he called upon 
Mr. Edax Rerum for his influence to procure him an 
oflice. He still lives in the hope of a place, but, unluck- 
ily for himself, can never make up his mind on which 
side to be zealous until the crisis is past and zeal is 
L»fieless. 



92 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

Plis last performance was characteristic. Having 
escorted the Hon. Phinkey Phunks to the steamboat, the 
vessel began to move before he had stepped ashore. 
He stood trembling on the brink. *' Jump, you fool!" 
said a jarvey. — " Take keer — it's too fur!" said a news 
paper boy. The advice being balanced, Doubtington 
was perplexed, and, making a half step, as the distance 
widened, he plumped into the river. He was fished out 
almost drowned, and, as he stood streaming and wo-be- 
gone upon the wharf, while other less liquid patriots earned 
golden opinions by shouting, " Hurrah for Phunks !" 
imagination could scarcely conceive a more appropriate 
emblem of the results of indecision than that presented 
by Duberly Doubtington, a man who, had it been left to 
himself, would never have been in the world at all. 



(93 ) 



DILLY JONES; 

OR, THE PROGRESS OF IMPROVEMENT 



One of the most difficult things in the world is to run 
before the wind; and, by judiciously observing tne 
changes of the weather, to avoid being thrown out. 
Fashion is so unsteady, and improvements are so rapid, 
that the man whose vocation yields him an abundant 
harvest now, may, in a few years, if he has not a keen 
eye, and a plastic versatility, find that his skill and his 
business are both useless. Many were the poor barbers 
shipwrecked by the tax upon hair-powder, and numerous 
were the leather breeches makers who were destroyed 
by the triumph of woollens. Their skill was doubtless 
very great, but it would not avail in a contest against the 
usages of the world ; and unless they had the capacity 
to strike out a new course, they all shared the fate of 
their commodities, and retired to the dark cellars of popu 
lar estimation. Every day shows us the same principle 
of change at work, and no one has more reason to reflect 
and mourn about it than one Dilly Jones of this city. 
Dilly is not, perhaps, precisely the person who would be 
chronicled by the memoir writers of the time, or have a 
monument erected to him if he were no more ; but Dilly 
is a man of a useful though humble vocation, and no one 
can saw hickory with more classic elegance, or s'n upon 



94 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

the curbstone and take his dinner with more picturesqv tj 
effect. 

Yet, as has been hinted above, Dilly has his sorrows, 
particularly at night, after a hard day's work, when his 
animal spirits have been exhausted by reducing gum logs 
to the proper measure. In the morning he is full of life 
and energy, feeling as if he could saw a cord of Shot- 
lowers, and snap the pillars of the Bank across his knee 
like pipe stems. In the full flush of confidence at that 
time of day, reflection batters against him in vain ; but 
as the night draws on, Dilly feels exhausted and spirit- 
less. His enthusiasm seems to disappear with the sun, 
and neither the moon nor the stars can cause high tide in 
tlie river of his mind. The current of his good spirits 
shrinks in its channel, leaving the gay and gorgeous 
barques of hope and confidence drearily ashore on the 
muddy flats ; and his heart fails him as if it were useless 
longer to struggle against adversity. 

It was in this mood that he was once seen travelling 
homeward, with his horse and saw fixed scientifically 
upon his shoulders. He meandered in his path in the 
way peculiar to men of his vocation, and travelled with 
that curvilinear elegance which at once indicates that he 
who practises it is of the wood-sawing profession, and 
illustrates the lopsided consequences of giving one leg 
more to do than the other. But Dilly was too melan- 
choly on this occasion to feel proud of his professional 
air, and perhaps, had he thought of it, would have re- 
proved the leg which performed the *' sweep of sixty," 
for indulging in such graces, and thereby embarrassing 
Its more humble brother, which, knowing that a right 
line is the shortest distance between two places, laboured 
to go straight to its destinatijn. Dilly, however, had no 



DILLY JONES. 95 

such stuff in his thoughts. His mind was reasoning from 
tlie past to the future, and was mournfully meditating 
upon the difficulties of keeping up with the changes of 
the times, which roll onward like a Juggernaut, and crush 
all who are not swift enough to maintain themselves in 
the lead. He wondered why fashions and customs 
should so continually change, and repined that he could 
not put a spoke in their wheel, that the trade of one's 
early days might likewise be the trade of one's latter 
years. So complete was his abstraction that he uncon- 
sciously uttered his thoughts aloud : 

" Sawing wood's going all to smash," said he, " and 
that's where every thing goes what I speculates in. This 
here coal is doing us up. Ever since these black stones 
was brought to town, the wood-sawyers and pilers, ind 
them soap-fat and hickory-ashes men, has been going 
down ; and, for my part, I can't say as how I see what's 
to be the end of all their new-fangled contraptions. But 
it's always so ; I'm always crawling out of the little end 
of the horn. I began life in a comfortable sort of a way ; 
selling oysters out of a wheelbarrow, all clear grit, and 
didn't owe nobody nothing. Oysters went down slick 
enough for a while, but at last cellars was invented, and 
darn the oyster, no matter how nice it was pickled, couk 
poor Dill sell ; so I had to eat up capital and profits my 
self. Then the * pepree pot smoking' was sot up, and 
went ahead pretty considerable for a time ; but a parcel 
of fellers come into it, said my cats wasn't as good as 
their'n, when I know'd they was as fresh as any cats in 
the market ; and pepree pot was no go. Bean soup was 
just as bad ; people said kittens wasn't good done that 
way, and the more I hollered, the more the customers 
wouldn't come, and them what did, wanted tick. Along 
with the boys and their pewter fips, them what got tru&t 



96 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

and didn't pay, and the abusing of my goods, I was soon 
fotch'd up in the victualling line — and I busted for the 
benefit of my creditors. But genius riz. I made a raise 
of a horse and saw, after being a wood-piler's prentice 
for a while, and working till I was free, and now here 
comes the coal to knock this business in the head. My 
people's decent people, and I can't disgrace 'em by turn- 
ing Charcoal Jemmy, or smashing the black stones with 
a pickaxe. They wouldn't let me into no society at all 
if I did." 

The idea of being excluded from the upper circles of 
he society in which he had been in the habit of moving, 
fell heavily upon the heart of poor Dilly Jones. He 
imagined the curled lips and scornful glances of the aris- 
tocratic fair, who now listened with gratification to his 
compliments and to his soft nonsense ; he saw himself 
passed unrecognised in the street — absolutely cut by his 
present familiar friends, and the thought of losing caste 
almost crushed his already dejected spirit. 

The workings of his imagination, combined with the 
fatigue of his limbs, caused such exhaustion, that, dis- 
lodging his horse from his shoulder, he converted it into 
a camp-stool, seated himself under the lee of a shop 
window, and, after slinging his saw petulantly at a dog, 
gazed with vacant eyes upon the people who occasionally 
passed, and glanced at him with curiosity. 

" Hey, mister !" said a shop-boy, at last, " I want to 
get shut of you, 'cause we're goin' to shet up. You're 
right in the way, and if you don't boom along, why Ben 
and me will have to play hysence, clearance, puddin's out 
with you afore you've time to chalk your knuckles— i 
won't we, Ben ?" 

"We'll plump him oflT of baste before he can say fliance, 
or get a sneak. We're knuckle dabsters, both on us. 



DILLY JONES. 97 

You'd better emigrate — the old man's coming, and if he 
finds you here, he'll play the mischief with you, before 
you can sing out ' I'm up if you knock it and ketch.' " 

So saying, the two lads placed themselves one on each 
side of Dilly, and began swinging their arms with an ex- 
pression that hinted very plainly at a forcible ejectment. 
Dilly, however, who had forgotten all that he ever knew 
of the phrases so familiar to those who scientifically under- 
stand the profound game of marbles, wore the puzzled 
air of cue who labours to comprehend what is said to him. 
But the meaning became so apparent as not to be mis- 
taken, when Ben gave a sudden pull at the horse which 
almost dismounted the rider. 

*' Don't be so unfeelin'," ejaculated Dilly, as he clutch- 
ed the cross-bars of his seat ; " don't be unfeelin', for a 
man in grief is like a wood-piler in a cellar — mind how 
you chuck, or you'll crack his calabash." 

"Take care of your calabash then," was the grinning 
response ; " you must skeete, even if you have to cut 
high-dutchers with your irons loose, and that's no 
fun." 

" High-dutch yourself, if you khow how ; only go 
'way from me, 'cause I ain't got no time." 

"Well," said the boys, "haven't we caught you 
Dn our payment? — what do you mean by crying here — 
ivhat do you foller when you're at home?" 

" I works in wood ; that's what I foller." 

" You're a carpenter, I s'pose," said Ben, winking ai 
Tom. 

" No, not exactly ; but I saws wood better nor any 
naif dozen loafs about the drawbridge. If it wasn't for 
grief, I'd give both of you six, and beat you too the best 
day you ever saw, goin' the rale gum and hickory — for I 
don't believe you're gentlemen's sons ; nothin' but poor 
137 



98 4 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

trash — halt* and half — want to be and can't, or you 
wouldn't keep a troubling of me." 

'* Gauley, Ben, if he isn't a wharf-rat ! If you don't 
trot, as I've told you a'ready, boss will be down upon 
you and fetch you up like a catty on a cork-line — jerk !" 

" That's enough," replied Dilly ; " there's more places 
nor one in the world — at least there is yet ; new fash- 
ions haven't shut up the streets yet, and obligated people 
to hire hackney balloons if they want to go a walkin', or 
omnibus boardin' houses when they want a fip's worth 
of dinner, or a levy's worth of sleep. Natural legs is 
got some chance for a while anyhow, and a man can get 
along if he ain't got clock-vurks to make him go. 

* I hope, by'm'by," added Dill scornfully, as he 
marched away from the chuckling lads, " that there 
won't be no boys to plague people. I'd vote for that 
new fashion myself. Boys is luisances, accordin' to 
me." 

He continued to soliloquize as he went, and his last 
observations were as follows : 

" I wonder, if they wouldn't list me for a Charlej* ? 
Hollering oysters and bean soup has guv' me a splendid 
woice ; and instead of skeering 'em away, if the thieves 
were to hear me singing out, my style of doing it would 
almost coax 'em to come and be took up. They'd feel 
like a bird when a snake is after it, and would walk up, 
and poke their coat collars right into my fist. Then, after 
a while, I'd perhaps be promoted to the fancy business of 
pig ketehing, which, though it is werry light and werry 
elegant, requires genus. Tisn't every man that qan come 
the scientifics in that line, and has studied the nature of 
a pig, so as to beat him at cancBuvering, and make him 
surrender 'cause he sees it ain't no use of doing nothing 
'"♦ wants laming to conwince them critters, and it's only 



DILLY JONES. 99 

to be done by heading 'em up handsome, hopping which 
ever way they hop, and tripping 'em up genteel by 
shaking hands with their off hind leg. I'd scorn to pull 
their tails out by the roots, or to hurt their feelin's by 
dragging 'em about by the ears. 

' But what's the use ? If I was listed, they'd soon find 
out to holler the hour and to ketch the thieves by steam ; 
yes, and they'd take 'em to court on a railroad, and try 
'em with biling water. They'll soon have black locomotives 
for watchmen and constables, and big bilers for judges 
and mayors. Pigs will be ketched by steam, and will be 
biled fit to eat before they are done squealing. By and 
by, folks won't be of no use at all. There won't be no 
people in the world but tea kettles ; no mouths, but safety 
valves ; and no talking, but blowing off steam. If I had 
a little biler inside of me, I'd turn omnibus, and week- 
days I'd run from Kensington to the Navy Yard, and 
Sundays I'd run to Fairmount." 



( 100) 



THE FLESHY ONE 



" 'Twas fat, not fate, by which Napoleon Hi " 

There is a little man in a sister city — there 6^, <i IxUlc 
men in most cities — but the one now on the tapis is a pecu- 
liar little man — a fat little man. He is one who may be 
described as a person about five feet — five feet high and 
very nearly five feet thick, bearing much resemblance to 
a large New England pumpkin stuck upon a pair of beets. 
When he lies down to sleep, were it not for his nose at 
one extremity and his toes at the other, the spectator 
would naturally suppose that he was standing upright 
under the cover. When he descends the stairs, he might 
as well roll on his side as fatigue himself with walking; 
and, as for tumbling down as other people tumble down, 
that is out of the question with Berry Huckel, or Huckel 
Berry, as he is sometimes called, because of his round- 
ness. Should he, however, chance to trip, — which he is 
apt to do, not being able to reconnoitre the ground in the 
vicinity of his feet, — before he achieves a fair start from 
the perpendicular, his " corporosity" touches the ground 
which his hands in vain attempt to reach, and he remains, 
until helped up, in the position of a schoolboy stretching 
himself over a cotton bale. Had he been the Lucius 
Junius of antiquity, the Pythia would never have been 
so silly as to advise him to kiss his mother earth ; for 



THE FLESHY ONE. 101 

unless his legs are tilted up by some one like the handles 
of a wheelbarrow, Berry Huckel can never bite the dusi. 
He cannot fall on his nose — that glorious privilege has 
been denied to men of his periphery ; but when enjoying 
moderate serenity of mind, he is always able to sleep 
o' nights, therein having no trifling advantage over your 
Seurats, your Edsons, your walking anatomies, whose 
aspect is a reproach to those who have the feeding of 
them. 

But biographical accuracy, and a desire that future 
generations may not be misled as to those important facts 
which make up the aggregate of history, render it neces- 
sary to avow that these fleshy attributes worry Mr. Berry 
Huckel. He cannot look upon the slender longitude of 
a bean-pole, he cannot observe the attenuated extent of a 
hop-stick, or regard the military dandyism of a grey- 
hound's waist, without experiencing emotions of envy, 
and wishing that he had himself been born to the same 
lankiness of figure, the same emaciation of contour. He 
rejoices not in his dimensions, and, contrary to all rules 
in physical science, believes that what he gains in weight, 
he loses in importance. It must, however, be confessed 
that he has some reason for discontent. He cannot wear 
shoes, for he must have assistance to tie them, and other 
fingers than his own to pull them up at heel. Boots are 
not without their vexations, although he has a pair of 
long hooks constructed expressly for his own use ; and 
should a mosquito bite his knee — which mosquitoes are 
apt to do — it costs him a penny to hire a boy to scratch 
it. Berry is addicted to literature, and once upon a time 
could write tolerable verses, when he was thin enough to 
sit so near a table as to. be able to write upon it. But this 
is not the case at present. His body is too large, and hif 
arms too short, for such an achievement. 



102 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

It is happily so arranged that the mind of man in 
general accommodates itself to circumstances. We 
become reconciled to that which is beyond remedy, 
and at length scarcely bestow a thought upon subjects 
which, when new, were sources of much disquietude and 
annoyance. In fact, owing to the compensating principle 
so often acted on by nature, it is by no means rare to 
find vanity flourishing most luxuriantly in those who 
have least cause to entertain the feelinsr. The more 
numerous our defects, the greater is our self-satisfaction 
and thus the bitterness and discontent that might be 
engendered by a knowledge that in mental or in physi- 
cal gifts we are far inferior to the majority of mankind, 
are harmlessly and pleasantly prevented. Who so happy 
as the simpleton, who is unconscious of any difference 
between himself and the superior spirits with whom he 
is thrown in contact, and who would smilingly babble 
his niaiseries in the presence of the assembled wisdom 
of the world ? Who look more frequently or with 
greater delight into the mirror, than they who have in 
truth but little reason to be gratified with the object it 
reflects? — and who indulge more in personal adornment 
than they in whom it would be the best policy to avoid 
display, and to attract the least possible attention to their 
outward proportions ? The ugly man is apt to imagine 
that the fair are in danger of being smitten with him at first 
sight, and perhaps — but we do not pretend to much 
knowledge on this branch of the subject, though suspect- 
ing, contrary to the received opinion, that the masculine 
gender are much more liable to the delusions of conceit 
than the softer sex, and that the guilty, having a more 
perfect command of the public ear, have in this instance, 
as in many others, charged their own sins upon the 
guiltless — perhaps plain women are to a certain extent 



THE FLESHY ONE. 103 

fubject to the same imputation. But who, even if he had 
the power, would be so unfeeling as to dissolve the charm 
and dissipate the *' glamour" which is so potent in making 
up the estimate, when we sit in judgment on ourselves ? 
Who, indeed, could do it safely ? — for every one is 
indebted to the witchery of self-deception for no small 
portion of the comfortable sensations that strew flow- 
ers on his path through life ; and it would be the 
height of cruelty if the " giftie" desired by Burns were 
accorded, enabling us to " see oursels as ithers see us." 
It was — had it been carried out to its full extent — an 
unkind offer, that of Cassius to play the moral looking- 
glass to his brother conspirator, and " show that to 
himself which he yet knew not of." If true and unre- 
lenting in its office, such a looking-glass would be in 
danger of a fracture, and it would have the alternatives 
of being either considered as a malicious exagg^rator, or 
as a mere falsifier that delights to wound. 

But digression is a runaway steed, — all this bears but 
slantingly on Berry Huckel, and they who love not 
generalizing, may substitute for it the individual specifi- 
cation that, owing to the comforting operation of custom, 
even Berry might not have troubled himself on the score 
of the circumstantial and substantial fat by which he is 
enveloped, had it not been that in addition to an affection 
for himself, he had a desire that he should be equally 
esteemed by another. In short. Berry discovered, like 
many other people, that his sensibilities were expansive 
as well as his figure — that it was not all sufficient to 
happiness to love one's self, and that his heart was more 
than a sulky, being sufficient to carry two. Although &o 
well fenced in, his soul was to be reached, and when 
reached, it was peculiarly susceptible of soft impressions 
*' The blind bow-boy's butt-shaft" never had a better mark 



104 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

In love, however, like does not consort with like 
either in complexion, in figure, or in temper, or each 
race would preserve its distinct lineage with the regu 
larity of the stripes upon the tartan. The fiery littla 
man — little men are almost always fiery, a fact which 
can only be accounted for on the theory, that wliether the 
individual be big or little, he contains the same quantity 
of the electro-magnetism of vitality, or in other words, of 
the spirit of life, — this spirit in a large body, having a 
greater amount of matter to animate, cannot afl!brd to 
flash and blaze except on extraordinary occasions^ 
while, being superabundant in the smaller figure, it has 
a surplus on hand, which stimulates to restlessness and 
activity, engenders warmth and irritability of temper, 
and is always ready for explosion — thus, the fiery little 
man is apt to become attached to beauty upon a large 
scale. He loves by the ton, and will have no idol but 
one that he must look up to. By such means the petu- 
lance of diminutiveness is checked and qualified by the 
phlegmatic calmness and repose of magnitude. The 
walking tower, on the contrary, who shakes the earth 
with his ponderous tread, dreams of no other lady-love 
except those miniature specimens of nature's handiwork, 
who move with the lightness of the gossamer, and seem 
more like the creation of a delightful vision than tangible 
reality. In this, sombre greatness asks alleviation from 
the butterfly gayety which belongs to the figure of fairy 
mould. The swarthy bend the knee to those of clear 
and bright complexion, and your Saxon blood seeks the 
*' dark-eyed one" to pay its devotions. The impulse of 
aature leads to those alliances calculated to correct faults 
on both sides, and to prevent their perpetuity. The 
grave would associate with the gay, the short pine for 
•he tall, the fat for the lean, the sulky for the sunny — 



THE FLESHY ONE. 105 

the big covet the little ; and, if our philosophy be not 
always borne out by the result, it is because circumstance 
or accident counteracts instinct, or that the cases cited 
forni exceptions to the rule without impairing its force. 
A true theorist always leaves the wicket of escape open 
behind him. 

At all events, Berry Huckel was in the strictest con- 
formity to the rule. His affections were set upon lathi- 
ness, and if he could not fall in love, he certainly con- 
trived to roll himself into it. 

He was indulging himself in a walk on a pleasant day, 
and, as usual, was endeavouring to dance along and to 
skip over the impediments in the path, for the purpose 
of persuading himself that he was a light and active 
figure, and that if any change were going on in his cor- 
poral properties, it was a favourable one, when an event 
occurred which formed an era in his life. He twirled 
his little stick, — a big one would have looked as if he 
needed support, — and, pushing a boy with a basket aside, 
attempted to hop over a puddle which had formed on the 
crossing at the corner of the street. The evolution, 
however, was not so skilfully achieved as it would have 
been by any one of competent muscle who carried less 
weight. Berry's foot came down " on the margin of 
fair Zurich's waters," and caused a terrible splash, 
sending the liquid mud about in every direction. 

" Phew !" puffed Berry, as he recovered himself, and 
looked with a doleful glance at the melancholy condition 
in which his vivacity had left his feet. 

"Splut!" ejaculated the boy with the basket, as he 
wiped the mud out of his eyes. " Jist let me ketch you 
np our alley, that's all, puddy-fat !" 

" Ah !" shrieked Miss Celestina Scraggs, a very tall 
ady, and particularly bony, as she regarded the terrible 



106 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

spots and stains with which Berry had disfi^red hef 
dress : *' what a pickle !" 

Berry turned round at the voice of a female in distress, 
and the sight of her went to his heart like an arrow. 
Miss Celestina Scraggs was precisely his beau ideal of 
what a woman should be — not perhaps in countenance, 
but her figure was the very antipodes of his own, and he 
felt that his time was come. As for face and a few more 
years than are desirable, Berry cared not, if the lady were 
tall enough and thin enough, and in the individual before 
him he saw both those qualities combined. 

*' My dear madam," said Berry, ducking his head 
alter the semblance of a bow, and raising his hat with a 
graceful curve — " my dear madam, I beg ten thousand 
pardons. Allow me, if you please," continued he, ob- 
serving that she paid no attention to his speech, and was 
attempting to shake off the looser particles of mud, an 
operation in which Berry ventured to assist. 

"Let me alone, sir — I wonder at your impudence," 
was the indignant reply, and Miss Celestina Scraggs 
floated onward, frowning indignantly, and muttering as 
she went — " First splash a body, and then insult a body ! 
Pretty pickle, — nice situation! fat bear !" 

Berry remained in attitude, his hat in one hand and 
his handkerchief with which he would have wiped the 
injured dress in the other. The scorn of the lady had 
no other effect on him than that of riveting his chains. 

" Hip-helloo, you sir !" shouted an omnibus drive.' 
from his box, as he cracked his whip impatiently ; 
*' don't stand in the middle of the street all day a blockin' 
up the gangvay, or I'll drive right over you — blamenation 
if I don't!" 

"Shin it, good man!" ejaculated a good-natured 
urchin ; " shm it as well as you know how !" 



THE FLESHY ONE. 107 

The qualification was a good one, Berry not being 
well calculated for a " shinner" of the first class. So 
starting from his revery, he hastened to escape " as well 
as he knew how," and, placing his hat once more upon 
his head, he resolved to follow the injured lady to ascer- 
tain her residence, and to devise ways and means of 
seeking her favour under better auspices. He hurried 
up the street with breathless haste, forming a striking 
resemblance to the figure which a turtle would present 

if walking a match against time on its hinder flippers. 

* * * * * * 

Passing over intermediate circumstances, it will 
sufiice to say that Mr. Berry Huckel discovered the 
>-esidence of Miss Scraggs, and that, by perseverance, he 
obtained an introduction according to etiquette. The 
more he saw of her the more thoroughly did he become 
fascinated ; but Miss Scraggs showed no disposition to 
receive his suit with any symptoms of favour. She 
scornfully rejected his addresses, chiefly because, although 
having no objection to a moderate degree of plumpness, 
his figure was much too round to square with her ideas 
of manly beauty and gentility of person. In vain did he 
plead the consuming passion, which, like the purest 
anthracite with the blower on, flamed in his bosom and 
consumed his vitals. Miss Scraggs saw no signs of 
spontaneous combustion in his jolly form ; and Miss 
Scraggs, who is " as tall and as straight as a poplar tree," 
declared that she could not marry a man who would 
hang upon her arm like a bucket to a pump. That he 
was not a grenadier in height might have been forgiven ; 
but to be short and " roly-poly" at the same time ! Miss 
Seraphina Scraggs could not think of it — she would 
(aint at the idea. 

Berry became almost desperate. He took lessons op 



108 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

the flute, and trolled forth melancholy lays beneath the 
lady's casement, to try the effect of dulcet sounds upon a 
hard heart ; but having been informed from a neigh- 
bouring window that fifer-boys were not wanted in that 
street, and that no nuisances would be tolerated, he 
abandoned music in despair ; and having consulted a 
physician as to the best method of reducing corpulency, 
he went to the Gymnasium, and endeavoured to climb 
poles and swing upon bars for hours at a time. But the 
unhappy Berry made but little progress, and in his 
unskilful efforts having damaged his nose and caused 
temporary injury to the beauty of his frontispiece, he 
gave up the design of making himself an athlete by that 
species of exercise. For sparring, he found that he had 
no genius at all, his wind being soon exhausted, and his 
body being such pleasant practice that his opponents 
never knew when to be done hitting at one whose frame 
gave no jarring to the knuckles. It was, however, pic- 
turesque to see Berry with the gloves on, accoutred for 
the fray, and squaring himself to strike and parry at his 
own figure in the glass. Deliberation and the line of 
beauty were in all his movements. Not obtaining his 
end in this way, he tried dieting and a quarter at 
dancing school ; but short-commons proved too disagree- 
able, and his gentle agitations to the sound of the fiddle, 
as he chassez\l, coupez\l, jefez\U and balancez^d only 
increased his appetite and added to his sorrows. Be- 
sides, his landlady threatened to discharge him for 
damaging the house, and alarming the sleepers by his 
midnight repetitions of the lessons of the day. As he 
lav in bed wakeful with thought, he would suddenly, as 
he Happened to remember that every moment was of 
Amportance for the reduction of his dimensions, slide ou/ 
upon the floor, and make tremendous efforts at a perform 



THE FLESHY ONE. 109 

ance of the " pigeon-wing," each thump resounding 
Uke the report of a cannon, and causing all the glasses 
in the row to rattle as if under the influence of an eartJi- 
quake. On one occasion indeed — it was about two 
o'clock in the morning — the whole house was roused by 
a direful, and, until then, unusual uproar in the chamber 
of Berry Huckel — a compound of unearthly singing and 
of appalling knocks on the floor. The boldest, having 
approached the door to listen, applied their ears to the 
keyhole, and heard as follows : " Turn out your toes — 
forward two — tol-de-rol-tiddle {thump) — tiddle {bump) — 
twiddle {bang!) — cross over — tiddle (ivhack) — twiddle 
[smack) — tiddle (crack) — twiddle {bang ly^ 

{Rap! rap! rap !) " Good gracious, Mr. Huckel, what's 
the meaning of all this ? — are you crazy ?" 

" No, I'm dancing — balancez! — tiddle {bump) — tiddle 
[thump) — tiddle [bang !y^ 

Orash ! splash ! went the basin-stand, and the boarders 
rushing in, found Berry Huckel in " the garb of old 
Gaul," stumbling amid the fragments he had caused by 
his devotions to the graces. He was in disgrace for a 
week, and always laboured under the imputation of 
having been a little non-com on that occasion ; but with 
love to urge him on, what is there that man will no: 
strive to accomplish ? 

Berry's dancing propensity led him to various balls 
and hops ; and on one of these occasions, he met Miss 
Scraggs in all her glory, but as disdainful as ever. 
After bowing to her with that respectful air, which 
intimated tliat the heart he carried, though lacerated by 
her conduct, was still warm with aflection, he took a 
little weak lemonade, which, as he expressed it, was the 
appropriate tipple for {rcntlemen in his situation, and then 



110 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

placed himself immediately under the fiddlers, leaning 
against the wall in a despairing attitude, arms carelessly- 
crossed, a handkerchief dangling negligently from his 
little finger, his mouth half open, and his eyes now fixed 
with resignation upon the ceiling, and anon dropping 
misanthropically to the ground. The tout ensemble 
was touching in the extreme, but Miss Scraggs only 
smiled derisively when her eyes fell upon her dejected 
lover 

Berry, however, finding that this would not do, cheered 
himself with wine, and danced furiously at every oppor- 
tunity. Gracefully glided the dancers, merrily twinkled 
their feet, and joyously squeaked the fiddles, as Berry, 
late in the evening, panting with his previous Terpsi- 
chorean exertions, resolved to have a chat with the obdu- 
rate Seraphina, and solicited the honour of her fair hand 
for the next set. 

*' Mons'us warm, miss," said Berry, by way of open- 
ing the conversation in a novel and peculiarly elegant 
way, " mons'us warm, and dancing makes itmons'usser." 

" Very mons'us," replied Miss Scraggs, glancing at 
him from head to foot with rather a satirical look, for 
Miss Scraggs is disposed to set up for a wit; "very 
mons'us, indeed. But you look warm, Mr. Huckel— 
hadn't you better try a little punch ? It will agree with 
your figure." ♦ 

*' Punch !" exclaimed Berry, in dismay, as he started 
back three steps — " Oh, Judy !" 

He rushed to the refreshment room to cool his fever- 
he snatched his hat from its dusky guardian, forgetting 
to give him a " levy," and hurriedly departed. 

It was not many hours afterwards that Berry — his love 
undiminished, and his knowledge refreshed that gymnas- 
tics are a remedy against exuberance of flesh — was seei 




"Mons'us warm, Miss ; auJ dancing makes it mons'usser." — Book I, page 110. 



m 



THE FLESHY ONE. Ill 

with his hat upon a stepping stone in front of a house in 
Chestnut street, labouring with diligence at jumping over 
both the stone and the chapeau. But the heaviness of 
his heart seemed to rob his muscles of their elasticity. 
Hp. failed at each effort, and kicked his hat into the 
middle of the street. 

" Phew !" said he, " my hat will be ruinationed to 
all intents and purposes. Oh ! if I wasn't so fat, I might 
be snoozing it off at the rate of nine knots instead of 
tiring myself to death. Fat ain't of no use, but on the 
contrary. Fat horses, fat cows, and fat sheep are respected 
accordin', but fat men are respected disaccordin'. Folks 
iaugh — the gals turn up their noses, and Miss Scraggs 
punches my feelings with a personal insinuation. Punch ! 
oh my ! — It's tiresome, to be sure, to jump over this 'ere, 
but it's a good deal tiresomer to be so jolly you can't jump 
at all, and can't even jump into a lady's affeckshins. So 
here's at it agin. Warn'ee wunst ! warn'ee twy'st ! 
warn'ee three times — all the way home !' 

Berry stooped low, swinging his arms with a pendu- 
lum motion at each exclamation, and was about assuming 
the salient attitude of the pound of butter which Daw- 
kins, for want of a heavier missile, threw at his wife, v/hen 
he was suddenly checked by the arrival of a fellow 
boarder, who exclaimed, "Why, Berry, what are you at?" 

"Don't baulk, good man — 1 say, don't baulk — but now 
you have done it, can you jump over that 'ere hat, fair 
standing jump, with a brick in each hand — none of your 
long runs and hop over ? — kin you do it ? — answer me 
that!" queried Berry, as he blew in his hands, and then 
commenced flapping his arms a. la wood-sawyer. 

" Perhaps I might — but it won't do for us to be cutting 

rustics here at this time o' night. You had better sing 

mightv small, I tell you." 
8 



112 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

* Pooh ! pooh ! don't be redickalis. Tlie doctor says 
if I don't exercise, I'll be smothered ; and Miss Scraggs 
called me punch, and won't have me — I'm jumping for 
my life, and for my wife too." 

" You d better go prentice to Jeames Crow," said 
his friend Brom, dryly, " and learn the real scienti- 
fics." 

" It would make me laugh," replied Berry, gravely ; 
" such as you can afford to laugh and get fat, but I 
can't. I've jumped six fireplugs a' ready, and I'll jump 
over that 'ere hat before I go home — I'm be blowed out 
bigger if I don't. Now squat, Brom — squat down, and 
see if I go fair. Warn'ee wunst — " 

** You're crazy !" answered Brom, losing all patience, 
" you're a downright noncompusser. I haven't seen a 
queerer fellow since the times of * Zacchy in the meal- 
bag;' and if you go on as you have lately, it's my 
opinion that your relations shouldn't let you run at 
large." 

" That's what I complain of — I can't run any other 
way than at large ; but if you'll let me alone, I'll try to 
jump myself smaller. So clear out, skinny, and let me 
practyse. Warn'ee wunst ! — " 

" You'd better come home, and make no bones about 



1" 

11. 



" Bones ! I ain't got any. I'm a boned turkey. If 
you do make me go home, you can't say you boned me. 
I've seen the article, but I never had any bones myself." 

This was, to all appearance, true enough, but his 
persecutor did not take the joke. Berry is, in a certain 
sense, good stock. He would yield a fat dividend ; but. 
though so well incorporated, no " bone-us" for the pri 
vilege is forthcoming. 



THE FLESHY ONE. 113 

*' Yes, you're fat enough, and Vm sorry to say, you'ro 
queer enough too ; queer is hardly a name for you. You 
must be taken care of, and go home at once, or I'll call 
assistance." 

* Well, if I must, I must — that's all. But if I jret the 
popperplexy, and don't get Miss Scraggs, it's all your 
fault. You won't let me dance in my chamber — you 
won't let me jump over my hat — you won't let me do 
nothing. I can't get behind the counter to tend the custom- 
ers, without most backing the side of the house out ; 
but what do you care ? — and now you want me to get 
fatter by going to sleep. By drat 1 I wouldn't wonder 
if I was to be ten pounds heavier in the morning. If I 
am, in the first place, I'll charge you for widening me and 
spoiling my clothes ; and then — for if I get fatter, Miss 
Scraggs won't have me a good deal more than she won't 
now, and my hopes and affeckshins will be blighteder than 
they are at this present sitting — why, then, I'll sue you 
for breach of promise of marriage." 

" Come along. There's too many strange people 
running about already. It's time you were thinned oif." 

" That's jist exactly what I want ; I wish you could thin 
me off," sobbed Berry, as he obeyed the order ; but he 
was no happier in the morning. Miss Seraphina Scraggs 
continues obdurate, for her worst fears are realized. He 
still grows fatter, though practising " warn'ee wunst" 
at all convenient opportunities. 
138 



I 114) 



GARDEN THEATRICALS. 



Man is an imitative animal, and consequently, the 
distinguished success which has fallen to the lot of a few 
of our countrymen in the theatrical profession, has had 
a great effect in creating longings for histrionic honours. 
Of late years, debuts have been innumerable, and it 
would be a more difRcult task than that prescribed by 
Orozimbo — " to count the leaves of yonder forest" — 
if any curious investigator, arguing from known to 
unknown quantities, were to undertake the computation 
of the number of Roscii who have not as yet been abl 
to effect their coup d'essai. In this quiet city — many 
as she has already given to the boards — multitudes are 
yet to be found, burning with ardour to *' walk the 
plank," who, in their prospective dreams, nightly hear 
the timbers vocal with their mighty tread, and snuff the 
breath of immortality in the imaginary dust which 
answers to the shock. The recesses of the town could 
furnish forth hosts of youths who never thrust the left 
hand into a Sunday boot, preparatory to giving it the last 
polish, without jerking up the leg thereof with a Kean- 
like scowl, and sighing to think that it is not the well 
buffed gauntlet of crook'd Richard — lads, who never don 
their night gear for repose, without striding thus attired 
across their narrow dormitory, and for the nonce, be- 
lieving themselves accoutred to " go on" for RoUa, oi 



GARDEN THEATRICALS. 115 

the Pythagorean of Syracuse — two gentlemen who pro- 
menade in " cutty sarks," and are as indifferent about 
rheumatism as a Cupid horsed upon a cloud. 

But in the times of which we speak, stage-struck 
heroes were rare. The theatrical mania was by no 
means prevalent. It went and came like the influ 
enza, sometimes carrying off its victims ; but they 
were not multitudinous. Our actors were chiefly im- 
portations. The day of native talent was yet in the 
gray of its morning — a few streakings or so, among the 
Tressels and Tyrells, but nothing tip-topping it in the 
zenith. There are, however, few generalities without 
an exception, and in those days, Theodosius Spoon had 
the honour to prove the rule by being an instance to the 
contrary. 

Theodosius Spoon — called by the waggish Tea-spoon, 
and supposed by his admirers to be born for a stirring 
fellow — one who would whirl round until he secured for 
himself a large share of the sugar of existence — Theo- 
dosius Spoon was named after a Roman emperor — not 
by traditional nomenclature, which modifies the effect of 
the thing, but directly, " out of a history book" abridged 
by Goldsmith. It having been ascertained, in the first 
place, that the aforesaid potentate, with the exception of 
having massacred a few thousand innocent people one 
day, was a tolerably decent fellow for a Roman empe- 
ror, he was therefore complimented by having his name 
bestowed upon a Spoon. It must not, however, be 
thought that the sponsors were so sanguine as to enter- 
tain a hope that their youthful charge would ever reach 
the purple. Their aspirations did not extend so far ; but 
being moderate in their expectations, they acted on the 
sound and well established principle that, as fine feathers 
make fine birds, fine names, to a certain extent, musi 



kl6 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

have an analogous effect — that our genius should be 
educed, as it were, by the appellation bestowed upon 
us ; and that we should be so sagaciously designated that 
to whatever height fortune leads, fame, in speaking of 
us, may have a comfortable mouthful, and we have no 
cause under any circumstances to blush for our name. 
Mr. and Mrs. Spoon — wise people in their way — rea- 
soned in the manner referred to. They were satisfied 
that a sonorous handle to one's patronymic acts like a 
balloon to its owner, and that an emaciated, every-day, 
threadbare cognomen — a Tom, Dick, and Harry denomi- 
nation — is a mere dipsey, and must keep a man at the 
bottom. Coming to the application of the theory, they 
were satisfied that the homely though useful qualities 
of the spoon would be swallowed up in the superior 
attributes of Theodosius. That this worthy pair were 
right in the abstract is a self-evident proposition. Who, 
tor instance, can meet with a Napoleon Bonaparte Mugg, 
tvithoiit feeling that w^hen the said Mugg is emptied of 
its spirit, a soul will have exhaled, which, had the gate 
of circumstance opened the way, would have played 
foot-ball with monarchs, and have wiped its brogues 
upon empires ? An Archimedes Pipps is clearly born to 
be a " screw," and to operate extensively with " burning 
glasses," if not upon the fleets of a Marcellus, at least 
upon his own body corporate. While Franklin Fipps, 
if in the mercantile line, is pretty sure to be a great flier 
of kites, and a speculator in vapours, and such like fancy 
stocks. If the Slinkums call their boy Ceesar, it follows 
as a natural consequence that the puggish disposition of 
the family nose will, in his case, gracefully curve into the 
aquiline, and that the family propensity for the Fabian 
method of getting out of a scrape, will be Cassarised into 
a valour, which at its very aspect would set " all Ga ' 



GARDEN THEATRICALS. 117 

into a quake. Who can keep little Diogenes Doubikens 
out of a tub, or prevent him from scrambling into a 
hogshead, especially if sugar is to be gathered in the 
interior ? Even Chesterfield GrulT is half disposed to be 
civil, if he thinks he can gain by so unnatural a course 
of proceeding ; and everybody is aware that C rich ton 
Dunderpate could do almost any thing, if he knew how, 
and if, by a singular fatality, all his fingers were not 
thumbs. 

Concurrent testimony goes to prove that the son of a 
great man is of necessity likewise great — the children of 
a blanchisseuse^ or of a house-scrubber, have invariably 
clean hands and faces ; schoolmasters are very careful 
to imbue their offspring with learning; and, if we are not 
mistaken, it has passed into a proverb that the male pro- 
geny of a clergyman, in general, labour hard for the 
proud distinction of being called " hopeful j^ouths and 
promising youngsters." The corollary, therefore, flows 
from this, as smoothly as water from a hydrant, that he 
who borrows an illustrious name is in all probability 
charged to the hvimj ipso facto y with the qualities whereby 
the real owner was enabled to render it illustrious — qua- 
lities, which only require opportunity and the true posi- 
tion to blaze up in spontaneous combustion, a beacon to 
the world. And thus Theodosius Spoon, in his course 
through life, could scarcely be otherwise than, if not an 
antique Roman, at least an " antic rum 'un ;" his spheie 
of action might be circumscribed, but he could not do 
otherwise than make a figure. 

Our Spoon — his parents being satisfied with givmg 
him an euphonious name — was early dipped into the broad 
bowl of the world to spoon for himself. He was appren- 
ticed to a shoemaker to learn the art and mystery of 
stretching "uppers" and of shaping "unders." Bui. 



118 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

for this employment, as it was merely useful and some- 
what laborious, he had no particular fancy. Whether it 
was owing to the influence of his name or not, we cannot 
pretend to say, but, like Jaffier and many other worthy 
individuals, he was much troubled with those serious in- 
conveniences termed " elegant desires." Young as he 
was, his talent for eating was aldermanic ; aristocracy 
Itself might have envied his somnolent performances in 
the morning : while, if fun or mischief were afoot, no 
watch dog could better encounter prolonged vigils, and 
no outlying cat could more silently and skilfully crawl 
in at a back window than he, when returning from his 
nocturnal perambulations. His genius for lounging, like- 
wise, when he should have been at work, was as re 
markable as his time-consuming power when sent on an 
errand. He could seem to do more, and yet perform less, 
than any lad of his inches in the town ; and, being ordered 
out on business, it was marvellous to see the swiftness 
with which he left the shop, and the rapidity of his im- 
mediate return to it, contrasted with the great amount of 
time consumed in the interval. With these accomplish- 
ments, it is not surprising that Theodosius Spoon was 
discontented with his situation. He yearned to be an 
embellishment — not a plodding letter, valuable only 
in combination, but an ornamental flourish, beautiful 
and graceful in itself; and, with that self-reliance pecu- 
liar to genius, he thought that the drama opened a short 
cut to the summit of his desires. Many a time, as he 
leaned his elbow on the lapstone, and reposed his chin 
upon his palm, did his work roll idly to the floor, 
while he gazed with envious eyes through the window 
at the playbills which graced the opposite corner, and 
hoped that the time would come when the first night of 
Theodosius Spoon would be thereupon announced in 



GARDEN THEATRICALS. 119 

letters as large as if he were a histrionic ladle. Visions 
of glory — of crowded houses — of thundering plaudits — 
of full pockets — of pleasant nights, and of day lounges up 
and down Chestnut street, the wonder of little hoys and 
the focus of all eyes, — floated vividly across his imagina- 
tion. How could he, who bore the name of a Roman 
emperor, dream of being elsewhere that at the topmost 
round of fortune's ladder, when he had seen others there, 
who, subjected to mental comparison, were mere rush- 
lights compared to himselH 

Filled with these gorgeous imaginings, our Spoon 
became metamorphosed into a spout, pouring forth 
streams of elocution by night and by day, and, though 
continually corking his frontispiece to try the expression 
in scenes of wrath, it soon became evident that his 
powers could not remain bottled in a private station, 
When a histrionic inclination ferments so noisily that if.f 
fizzling disturbs the neighbourhood, it requires littl'i 
knowledge of chemistry to decide that it must have vent, 
or an explosion will be the consequence ; and such was 
the case in the instance of Avhich we speak. The 
oratorical povvers of Theodosias Spoon were truly 
terrible, and had become, during the occasional absence 
of the '* boss," familiar to every one within a square. 

An opportunity soon afforded itself. — Those Philadel- 
phians, who were neither too old nor too young, when 
Theodosius Spoon flourished, to take part in the amuse- 
ments of the town, do not require to be told that for the 
delectation of their summer evenings, the city then 
rejoiced in a Garden Theatre, which was distinguished 
from the winter houses by the soft Italian appellation of 
the Tivoli. It was located in Market near Broad street, 
in those days a species of rus in iirbe, improvement 
Dot having taken its westward movement ; and before 'l«< 



120 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

brilliancy was foi ever extinguished, the establishment 
passed through a variety of fortunes, furnishing to the 
public entertainment as various, and giving to the stage 
many a "regular" whose first essay was made upon its 
boards. 

At this period, so interesting to all who study the 
history of the drama, lived one Typus Tympan, a 
printer's devil, who " cronied" with Spoon, and had been 
the first to give the " reaching of his soul" an inclination 
stageward. Typus worked in a newspaper office, where 
likewise the bills of the Garden Theatre were printed, 
and, par consequence^ Typus was a critic, with the 
entree of the establishment, and an occasional order for 
a friend. It was thus that Spoon's genius received the 
Promethean spark, and started into life. By the patron- 
ising attentions of Typus, he was no longer compelled 
to gaze from afar at the members of the company as they 
clustered after rehearsal, of a sunny day, in front of the 
theatre, and varied their smookings by transitions from 
the " long nine" to the real Habana, according to the 
condition of the treasury, or the state of the credit system. 
Our hero now nodded familiarly to them all, and by dint 
of soleing, heel-tapping, and other small jobs in the leather 
way, executed during the periods of " overwork" for Mr. 
Julius Augustus Winkins, was admitted to the personal 
friendship of that illustrious individual. Some idea of tlie 
honour thus conferred may be gathered from the fact 
that Mr. Winkins himself constituted the entire male 
department of the operatic corps of the house. He 
grumbled the bass, he warbled the tenor, and, when 
necessary, could squeak the " counter" in beautiful per 
i'ection. All that troubled this magazine of vocalism 
was that, although he could manage a duet easily enough, 
'Soliloquizing a chorus was rather beyond his capacity, and 



GARDEN Tm:ATRlC.iLS. 121 

he was, therefore, often compelled to rely upon the 
audience at the Garden, who, to their credit be it spoken, 
scarcely needed a hint upon such occasions. On opera 
nights, they generally volunteered their services to fill 
out the harmony, and were so abundantly obliging, that 
it was difficult to teach them where to stop. In his 
private capacity — when he wS,s ex oj^cio Winkins — he did 
the melancholico-Byronic style of man — picturesque, but 
*' sufferino- in his innards," — to the orreat delio;ht of all the 
young ladies who dv/elt in the vicinity of tlie Garden. 
When he walked forth, it was with his slender frame 
inserted in a suit of black ratlier the worse for wear, but 
still retaining a touching expression, softened, but not 
weakened, by the course of time. He wore his shirt 
collars turned down over a kerchief in the " fountain 
tie," about which there is a Tyburn pathos, irresistible 
to a tender heart ; and with his well oiled and raven 
locks puffed out en masse on the left side of his head, 
he declined his beaver over his dexter eye until its brim 
kissed the corresponding ear. A profusion of gilt chain 
travelled over his waistcoat, and a multitude of rings of 
a dubious aspect encumbered his fingers. In this inte- 
resting costume did Julius Auo;ustus Winkins, in his 
leisure moments, play the abstracted, as he leaned grace- 
fully against the pump, while obliquely watching the 
effect upon the cigar-making demoiselles who operated 
over the way, and who regarded Julius as quite a love, 
decidedly the romantic thing. 

Winkins was gracious to Spoon, partly on the account 
aforesaid, and because both Spoon and Tympan were 
capital claqueurs, and invariably secured him an encore, 
when he warbled " Love has eyes," and the other 
rational ditties in vogue at that period. 

Now it happened that business was rather dull at the 



122 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

Garden, and the benefit season of course commenced. 
Tne hunting up of novelties was prosecuted with great 
vigour ; even the learned pig had starred at it for once ; 
and as the Winkins night approached, Julius Augustus 
determined to avail himself of Spoon for that occasion, 
thinking him likely to draw^, if he did not succeed, for in 
those days of primitive simplicity first appearances had 
not ceased to be attractive. The edge not being worn 
off, they were sure to be gratifying, either in one way 
or the other. 

It was of a warm Sunday afternoon that this important 
matter was broached. Winkins, Spoon, and Tympan 
sat solacing themselves in a box at the Garden, 
puffing their cigars, sipping their liquid refreshment, and 
occasionally nibbling at three crackers brought in upon 
a large waiter, which formed the substantial of the 
entertainment. The discourse ran upon the drama. 

" Theo, my boy !" said Winkins, putting one leg on 
the table, and allowing the smoke to curl about his nose, 
as he cast his coat more widely open, and made the 
accost friendly. 

" Spoon, my son!" said Winkins, being the advance 
paternal of that social warrior, as he knocked the ashes 
from his cigar with a flirt of his little finger. 

'* Spooney, my tight 'un !" — the assault irresistible, — 
*' how would you like to go it in uncle Billy Shakspeare, 
and tip the natives the last hagony in the tragics ?" 
Winkins put his other leg on the table, assuming an 
attitude both of superiority and encouragement. 

"Oh, gammin!" ejaculated Spoon, blushing, smiling, 
and putting the forefinger of his left hand into his mouth. 
*' Oh, get out !" continued he, casting down his eyes 
with the modest humility of untried, yet self-satisfied 
genius. 



GARDEN THEATRICALS. 123 

" Not a bit of it — I'm as serious as an empty barn— - 
got the genius — want the chance — my benefit — two acts 
of any thing — cut mugs — up to snuff — down upon 'em — 
fortune made — that's the go." 

"It's our opinion, — we think, Theodosius," observed 
Typus Tympan, with editorial dignity, as he emphati- 
cally drew his cuff across the lower part of his counte- 
nance, *' we think, and the way we know what's what, 
because of our situation, is sing'ler — standing, as we 
newspaper folks do, on the shot tower of society — that 
now's your time for gittin' astraddle of public opinion, 
and for ridin' it like a boss. Jist such a chance as 
you've been wantin'. As the French say, all the bew 
mundy come to Winkins's benefit ; and if the old man 
won't go a puff leaded, why we'll see to havin' it sneaked 
in, spread so thick about genius and all, that it will 
draw like a blister — we will, even if we get licked for it." 

*' 'Twon't do," simpered Spoon, as he blushed brown, 
while the expression of his countenance contradicted his 
words. *' 'Twon't do. How am I to get a dress — s'pose 
boss ketches me at it? Besides, I'm too stumpy for 
tragedy, and anyhow I must wait till I'm cured of my 
cold." 

"It will do," returned Winkins, decisively "and 
tragedy's just the thing. There are, sir, varieties in tra- 
gedy — by the new school, it's partitioned off in two 
grand divisions. High tragedy of the most helevated 
description," (Winkins always Jiaspirated when desirous 
of being emphatic,) "high tragedy of the most helevated 
and hexalted kind should be represented by a gentleman 
short of statue, and low comedy should be sustained by 
a gentleman tall of statue. In the one case, the higher 
the part, the lowerer the hactor, and in the other case, 
wisey wersy. It makes light and shade between the 



124 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

sentiment and the performer, and jogs the attention by 
tne power of contrast. The hintellectual style of play- 
ing likewise requires crooked legs." 

" We think, then, our friend is decidedly calkilated to 
walk into the public. There's a good deal of circum- 
bendibus about Spoon's gams — he's got serpentine trot- 
ters — splendid for crooked streets, or goin' round a cor- 
ner," interpolated Typus, jocularly. 

" There's brilliancy about crooked legs," continued 
Winkins, with a reproving glance at Typus. " The mo- 
notony of straight shanks answers well enough for genteel 
comedy and opera ; but corkscrew legs prove the mind 
to be too much for the body ; therefore, crooked legs, 
round shoulders, and a shovel nose for the heccentrici- 
ties of the hintellectual tragics. Audiences must have 
it queered into 'em ; and as for a bad cold, why it's a 
professional blessing in that line of business, and saves a 
tragedian the trouble of sleeping in a wet shirt to get a 
sore throat. Blank verse, to be himpressive, must be 
iVogged — it must be groaned, grunted, and gasped — bring 
It out like a three-pronged grinder, as if body and soul 
were parting. There's nothing like asthmatic elocution 
and spasmodic emphasis, for touching the sympathies and 
setting the feelings on edge. A terrier dog in a pucker 
is a good study for anger, and always let the spectators 
see that sorrow hurts you. There's another style of tra- 
gedy — the physical school — " 

*' That must be a dose," ejaculated Typus, who was 
developing into a wag. 

" But you're not big enough, or strong enough for 
that. A physical must be able to outmuscle ten black- 
smiths, and bite the head off a poker. He must com 
mence the play hawfully, and keep piling on the hagony 
till the close, when he must keel up in an hexcruciating 



GARDEN THEATRICALS. 125 

manner, flip-flopping it about the stage as he defuncts, 
.ike a new caught sturgeon. He should be able to hago- 
nize other people too, by taking the biggest fellow in the 
company by the scuff of the neck, and shaking him at 
arm's length till all the hair drops from his head, and 
then pitch him across, with a roar loud enough to break 
tlie windows. That's the menagerie method. The phy- 
sical must always be on the point of bursting his boiler, 
yet he mustn't burst it ; he must stride and jump as if he 
would tear his trousers, yet he mustn't tear 'em ; and 
when he grabs anybody, he must leave the marks of his 
paws for a week. It's smashing work, but it won't do 
for you. Spooney ; you're little, black-muzzled, queer 
in tlie legs, and have got a cold ; nature and sleeping with 
the windows open have done wonders in making you fit 
for the hintellectuals, and you shall tip 'em the senti- 
mental in Hamlet." 

Parts of this speech were not particularly gratifying 
to Spoon ; but, on the whole, it jumped with his desires, 
and the matter was clinched. Winkins trained him ; 
taught him when and where to come the " hagony ;" 
when and where to cut " terrific mugs" at the pit ; when 
and where to wait for the applause, and how to chassez 
an exit, with two stamps and a spring, and a glance 
en arriere. 

Not long after, the puff appeared as Typus promised. 
The bills of the " Garden Theatre" announced the 
Winkins benefit, promising, among other novelties, the 
third act of Hamlet, in which a young gentleman, his 
first appearance upon any stage, would sustain the cha- 
racter of the melancholy prince. Rash promise I fatal 
anticipation ! 

The evening arrived, and the Garden was crowded. 
All the boys of the trade in town assembled to witness 



126 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

the dehut of a brother chip, and many came because others 
were coming. Winkins, in a blue military frock, but- 
toned to the chin, white pantaloons strapped under the 
foot, and gesticulating with a shining black hat with 
white lining, borrowed expressly for the occasion, had 
repeated " My love is like the red, red rose" with 
immense applause, when the curtain rang up, and the 
third act began. 

The tedious prattle of those who preceded him being 
over, Theodosius Spoon appeared. Solemnly, yet with 
parched lips and a beating heart, did he advance to the 
footlights, and duck his acknowledgments for the applause 
which greeted him. His abord, however, did not 
impress his audience favourably. The black attire but 
ill became his short squab figure, and the " hintellectual 
Cragicality of his legs," meandering their brief extent, 
'ike a Malay creese, gave him the aspect of an Ethiopian 
Bacchus dismounted from his barrel. Hamlet resembled 
the briefest kind of sweep, or " an erect black tadpole 
takinor snuff." 

With a fidelity to nature never surpassed, Hamlet 
expressed his dismay by scratching his head, and, with 
his eyes fixed upon his toes, commenced the soliloquy, — 
another beautiful conception, — for the prince is supposed 
to be speaking to himself, and his toes are as well 
entitled to be addressed as any other portion of his per- 
sonal identity. This, however, was not appreciated by 
the spectators, who were unable to hear any part of tlie 
confidential communication going on between Hamlet's 
extremities. 

" Louder, Spooney !" squeaked a juvenile voice, with 
3 villanous twang, from a remote part of the Garden. 
* Keep a ladling it ou<. strong ! Who's afeard ? — it's only 
old Tiwoly !" 



GARDEN THEATRICALS. 127 

" Throw it out !" whispered Winkins, from the wing 
'* Go it like a pair of bellowses !" 

But still the pale lips of Theodosius Spoon continued 
quivering nothings, as he stood gasping as if about to 
swallow the leader of the fiddlers, and alternately raising 
his hands like a piece of machinery. Ophelia advanced. 

" Look out, bull-frog, there comes your mammy. 
Please, ma'am, make little sonny say his lesson." 

Bursts of laughter, shouts, and hisses resounded 
through the Garden. " Whooror for Spooney !" roared 
his friends, as they endeavoured to create a diversion in 
his favcur — " whooror for Spooney ! and wait till the 
skeer is worked off uv him !" 

"How vu'd you like it?" exclaimed an indignant 
Spooneyite to a hissing malcontent; "how vu'd you 
^ike it fur to have it druv' into you this 'ere vay ? Vot kin 
a man do ven he ain't got no chance ?" 

As the hisser did but hiss the more vigorously on 
account of the remonstrance, and, jumping up, did it 
directly in the teeth of the remonstrant, the friend to 
Spooney knocked him down, and the parqiiette was soon 
in an uproar. " Leave him up !" cried one — " Order ! 
put 'em down, and put 'em out !" The aristocracy of 
the boxes gazed complacently upon the grand set-to 
btneath them, the boys whacked away with their clubs 
at the lamps, and hurled the fragments upon the stage, 
while Ophelia and Hamlet ran away together. 

" Ladies and gentlemen," exclaimed Winkins, as he 
rushed upon the stage, dragging after him " the rose and 
the expectancy of the fair state," the shrinking Theo- 
dosius, — " will you hear me for a moment?" 

" Hurray for Vinkins !" replied a brawny critic, 

taking his club in both hands, as he hammered against 

he front of the boxes ; " Vinkey, sing us the Bay uv 
9 



128 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

Viskey, and make bull-frog dance a hornspike to the tune 
uv it. Hurray ! Twig Vinkey's new hat — make a 
speech, Vinkey, fur your vite trousers !" 

At length, comparative silence being restored, Mr. 
Winkins, red with wrath, yet suppressing his rage, 
delivered himself as follows — at times adroitly dodging 
the candle ends, which had been knocked from the main 
chandelier, and were occasionally darted at him and his 
protege. 

" Ladies and gentlemen, permit me {dodge) respect- 
fully to ask one question. Did you {dodge) come here 
to admire the beauties of the drama, (successive dodges to 
the right and left,) or am I to {dodge, dodge) to under- 
stand that you came solely to kick up a bloody row ?" 

The effect of this insinuating query had scarcely time 
to manifest itself, before Monsieur le direct eur en chef, a 
choleric Frenchman, who made a profitable mixture of 
theatricals, ice cream, and other refreshments, suddenly 
appeared in the flat, foaming with natural anger at the 
results of the young gentleman's debut. Advancing 
rapidly as the " kick" rang upon his ear, he suited the 
action to the word, and, by a dexterous application of his 
foot, sent Winkins, in the attitude of a flying Mercury, 
clear of the orchestra, into the midst of the turbulent 
crowd in the pit. Three rounds of cheering followed this 
achievement, while Theodosius gazed in pallid horror at 
the active movement of his friend. 

"Kick, aha! Is zat de kick, monsieur dam hoom 
boog ? Messieurs et mesdames, lick him good — sump 
him into fee-penny beets ! Sacre !" added the enraged 
manager, turning toward Theodosius, "I sail lick de 
petit hoomboog ver' good — sump him bon, nice, moi 
meme — by me ownsef." 

But the alarmed Theodosius, though no linguist, 



GARDEN THEATRICALS. 129 

understood enough of this speech not to tarry for the 

consequences, and climbing into the boxes, while the 

angry manager clambered after him, he rushed through 

the crowd, and in the royal robes of Denmark hurried 

home. 

For the time, at least, he was satisfied that bearing the 

name of a Roman emperor did not lead to instant success 

on the stage, and though he rather reproached the 

audience with want of taste, it is not probable that he 

ever repeated the attempt ; for he soon, in search of an 

*' easy life," joined the patriots on the Spanish main, and 

was never after heard of. 
139 



C 130 ) 



PETER BRUSH, 

THE GREAT USED UP. 



It was November ; soon after election time; when a 
considerable portion of the political world are apt to be 
despondent, and external things appear to do their utmost 
to keep them so. November, the season of dejection, 
when pride itself loses its imperious port ; when ambi- 
tion gives place to melancholy ; when beauty hardly 
takes the trouble to look in the glass ; and when exist- 
ence doffs its rainbow hues, and wears an aspect of such 
dull, commonplace reality, that hope leaves the world 
for a temporary excursion, and those who cannot do 
without her inspiring presence, borrow the aid of pistols, 
cords, and chemicals, and send themselves on a longer 
journey, expecting to find her by the way : — a season, 
when the hair will not stay in curl ; when the walls weep 
dewy drops, to the great detriment of paper-hangings, 
and of every species of colouring with which they are 
adorned ; when the banisters distil liquids, any thing 
but beneficial to white gloves ; when nature fills the 
ponds, and when window-washing is the only species of 
amusement at all popular among housekeepers. 

It was on the worst of nights in that worst of seasons. 
The atmosphere was in a condition of which it is difficult 
to speak with respect, much as we may be disposed to 
applaud the doings of nature. Il was damp, foggy, and 



PETER BRUSH. 131 

drizzling ; to sum up its imperfections in a sonorous an J 
descriptive epithet, it was '* 'orrid muggy weather." The 
air hung about the wayfarer in warm, unhealthy folds, 
and extracted the starch from his shirt collar and from 
the bosom of his dickey, with as much rapidity as it rob- 
bed his spirits of their elasticity, and melted the sugar of 
self-complacency from his mind. The street lamps 
emitted a ghastly white glare, and were so hemmed in 
with vapory wreaths, that their best efforts could not 
project a ray of light three feet from the burner. Gloom 
was universal, and any change, even to the heat of Africa, 
or to the frosts of the arctic circle, would, in compari- 
son, have been delightful. The pigs' tails no longer 
waved in graceful sinuosities ; while the tail of each 
night-roving, hectoring bull-dog ceased flaunting toward 
the clouds, a banner of wrath and defiance to punier crea- 
tures, and hung down drooping and dejected, an emblem 
of a heart little disposed to quarrel and offence. The 
ornamentals of the brute creation being thus below par, 
it was not surprising that men, with cares on their shoul- 
ders and raggedness in their trousers, should likewise 
be more melancholy than on occasions of a brighter 
character. Every one at all subject to the " skiey influ- 
ences," who has had trouble enough to tear his clothes, 
and to teach him that the staple of this mundane exist- 
ence is not exclusively made up of fun, has felt that phi- 
losophy is but a barometrical affair, and that he who is 
proof against sorrow when the air is clear and bracing, 
may be a very miserable wretch, with no greater cause, 
when the wind sits in another quarter. 

Peter Brushes a man of this susceptible class^ .^ His 
nervous system is of the most delicate organization, and 
responds to the changes of the weather, as an Eolian 
harp sings to the fitful swellings of the breeze. Peter 



132 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

was abroad on the night of which we speak ; either 
because, unlike the younger Brutus, he had no Portia 
near to tell him that such exposure was " not physical," 
and that it was the part of prudence to go to bed, or that, 
although aware of the dangers of miasma to a man of his 
constitution, he did not happen at that precise moment 
lo have access to either house or bed ; in his opinion, 
two essential pre-requisites to couching himself, as he 
regarded taking it al fresco, on a cellar door, not likely 
to answer any sanitary purpose. We incline ourselves 
to the opinion that he was in the dilemma last mentioned, 
as it had previously been the fate of other great men. 
But be that as k may, Mr. Peter Brush was in the street, 
as melancholy as an unbraced drum, " a gib-ed cat, or 
a lugged bear." 

Seated upon the curb, with his feet across the gutter, 
he placed his elbow on a stepping-stone, and like Juliet 
on the balcony, leaned his head upon his hand— ^a hand 
that would perhaps have been the better of a covering, 
though none would have been rash enough to volunteer 
to be a glove upon it. He was in a dilapidated condition — 
out at elbows, out at knees, out of pocket, out of office, 
out of spirits, and out in the street — an " out and outer" 
in every respect, and as outre a mortal as ever the eye of 
;iian did rest upon. For some time, Mr. Brush's reflec- 
tions had been silent. Following Hamlet's advice, he 
*'gave them an understanding, but no tongue ;" and he 
relieved himself at intervals by spitting forlornly into 
the kenrcl. At length, suflfering his locked hands to 
fall betw.<?en his knees, and heaving a deep sigh, he 
spoke : — 

*' A long Hme ago, my ma used to put on her specs 
and say, ' Pe'er, my son, put not your trust in princes ;' 
and from that »\ay to this I haven't done any thing of the 



PETER BRUSH. i33 

kind, because none on 'em ever wanted to borry nothing 
of me ; and I never see a prince or a king, — but one or 
two, a].d tiiey had been rotated out of ofiaa, — to borry 
nothing of them. Princes! pooh! — Put not your trust 
in politicianers — them's my sentiments. You might jist 
as well try to hold an eel by the tail. I don't care which 
side they're on, for I've tried both, and I know. Put 
not your trust in politicianers, or you'll get a hyst. 

" Ten years ago it came into my head that things 
weren't going on right ; so I pretty nearly gave myself 
up tee-totally to the good of the republic, and left the 
shop to look out for itself. I was brimfull of patriotism, 
and so uneasy in my mind for the salivation of freedom, 
I couldn't work. I tried to guess which side was going 
to win, and I stuck to it like wax ; — sometimes I was 
a-one side, sometimes I was a-t'other, and sometimes I 
straddled till the election was over, and caine up jist in 
time to jine the hurrah. It was good I was after ; and 
what good could I do if I wasn't on the 'lected side ? 
But, after all, it was never a bit of use. Whenever the 
battle was over, no matter what side was sharing out the 
loaves and the fishes, and I stepped up, I'll be hanged if 
they didn't cram all they could into their own mouths 
put their arms over some, and grab at all the rest with 
their paws, and say, ' Go away, white man, you ain't 
capable.' — Capable ! what's the reason I ain't capable ? 
I've got as extensive a throat as any of 'em, and I could 
swallow the loaves and fishes without choking, if each 
loaf was as big as a grindstone and each fish as 
big as a sturgeon. Give Peter a chance, and leave him 
alone for that. Then, another time when I called — ' 1 
want some spoils,' says I ; ' a small bucket full of spoils 
Whichever side gets in, shares the spoils, don't they ?' 
So they first grinned, and then they ups and tells me thii^ 



134 CHARCOAL SKETCHES 

Virtue like mine was its own reward, and that spoils 
might spoil me. But it was no spoils that spoilt me, 
and no loaf and fish that starved me — I'm spoilt because 
I couldn't get either. Put not your trust in politicianers 
— I say it agin. Both sides used me jist alike. Here 
I've been serving my country, more or less, these ten 
years, like a patriot — going to town meetings, hurraing 
my daylights out, and getting as blue as blazes — ^blocking 
the windows, getting licked fifty times, and having more 
black eyes and bloody noses than you could shake a 
stick at, all for the common good, and for the purity of 
our illegal rights — and all for what ? Why, for nix. If 
any good has come of it, the country has put it into her 
own pocket, and swindled me out of my arnings. I can't 
get no oflSce ! Republics is ungrateful ! It wasn't reward 
I was after. I scorns the base insinivation. I only 
wanted to be took care of, and have nothing to do but to 
take care of the public, and I've only got half — nothing 
to do ! Being took care of was the main thing. Repub- 
lics is ungrateful ; I'm swaggered if they ain't. This is 
the way old sojers is served." 

Peter, having thus unpacked his o'erfraught heait, 
heaved a sigh or two, as every one does after a recapi 
tulation of their own injuries, and remained for a few 
minutes wrapped in abstraction. 

" Well, well," said he, mournfully, swaying his head 
to and fro after the sagacious fashion of Lord Burleigh— 
" live and learn — live and learn — the world's not what a 
man takes it for before he finds it out. Whiskers grow 
a good deal sooner than experience — genus and patriot- 
ism ain't got no chance — heigh-ho ! — But anyhow, a 
man might as well be under kiver as out in the open aii 
in sich weather as this. It's as cheap laying down as it iy 
Bettin' up, and there's not so much wear and tear about it." 



PETER BRUSH. 135 

With a ^oan, a yawn, and a sigh, Peter Brush slowly 
arose, and stretching himself like a drowsy lion, he 
walked toward the steps of a neighbouring house. Having 
reached the top of the flight, he turned about and looked 
round with a scrutinizing glance, peering both up and 
down the street, to ascertain that none of the hereditary 
enemies of the Brushes were in the vicinity. Being 
satisfied on that score, he prepared to enjoy all the com- 
fort that his peculiar situation could command. Accord- 
ing to the modern system of warfare, he carried no bag- 
gage to encumber his motions, and was always ready to 
bivouac without troublesome preliminaries. He there- 
fore placed himself on the upper step, so that he was 
just within the doorway, his head reclining against one 
side of it, and his feet braced against the other, block- 
ading the passage in a very effectual manner. He adjusted 
himself in position as carefully as the Sybarite who was 
annoyed at the wrinkle of a rose-leaf on his couch, grunt- 
ing at each motion like a Daniel Lambert at his toilet, 
and he made minute alterations in his attitude several 
times before he appeared perfectly satisfied that he had 
effected the best arrangements that could be devised. 
After reposing for a while as if " the flinty and steel 
couch of war were his thrice-driven bed of down," he 
moved his head with an exclamation of impatience at the 
hardness of the wall, and taking his time-worn beaver, 
he crumpled it up, and mollified the austerity of his bol- 
ster by using the crushed hat as a pillow. 

"That will do," ejaculated Brush, clasping his liands 
before him, and twirling his thumbs ; and he then closed 
his eyes for the purpose of reflecting upon his condition 
with a more perfect concentration of thought than can be 
obtained when outward objects distract the mind. But 
thinking in this way is always a hazardous experiment. 



l.'?5 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

whether it be after dinner, or in the evening- ; and Petei 
Brush soon unwittingly fell into a troubled, murmuring 
sleep, in which his words were mere repetitions of what 
he had said before, the general scope of the argument 
being to prove the received axiom of former times, that 
republics do not distribute their favours in proportion to 
services rendered, and that, in the speaker's opinion, they 
are not, in this respect, much better tlian the princes against 
whom his mother cautioned him. Such, at least, was 
the conviction of Mr. Brush ; at which he had arrived 
not by theory and distant observation, but by his own 
personal experience. 

It is a long lane which has no turning, and it is a long 
sleep in the open air, especially in a city, which does not 
meet with interruption. Brush found it so in this in- 
stance, as he had indeed more than once before. Several 
gentlemen, followed by a dog, arrived at the foot of the 
steps, and, after a short conversation, dispersed each to 
his several home. One, however, remained — the owner 
of the dog — who, whistling for his canine favourite, took 
out his night-key, and walked up the steps. The dog, 
bounding before his master, suddenly stopped, and after 
attentively regarding the recumbent Brush, uttered a 
sharp rapid bark. 

The rapidity of mental operations is such that it fre- 
quently happens, if sleep be disturbed by external sounds, 
that the noise is instantly caught up by the ear, and in- 
corporated with the subject of the dream — or perhaps a 
dream is instantaneously formed upon the nucleus sug- 
gested by the vibration of the tympanum. The bark of 
the dog had one of these effects upon Mr. Brush. 

** Bow ! wow I waugh !" said the dog. 

*' There's a fellow making a speech against our side,'* 
muttered Peter ; "but it's all talk — where's your facts ?— - 



PETER BRUSH. 137 

pumt jou\ speech in pamphlet form, and I'll answer it. 
Hmray loi us t — everybody else is rascals — nothing but 
ruination wnen ihdt fellow's principles get the uppei 
han'.l — our side tor ever — we're the boys !" 

■ f^e still, Ponto : ' said the gentleman. " Now, sir, 
he pleased to get up, and carry yourself to some other 
place. I don't know which side has the honour of claim- 
ing you, but you are certainly on the wrong side at 
present." 

*' Don't be official and trouble yourself about other 
people's business," said Bnish, trying to open his eyes ; 
" don't be official, for it isn't the genteel thing." 

" Not official ! what do you mean by that ? I shall be 
very official, and trundle you down the steps if you are 
not a little more rapid in your motions." 

*' Oh, very well," responded Brush, as he wheeled 
round in a sitting posture, and fronted the stranger — 
" very well — be as sassy as you please — I suppose you've 
got an office, by the way you talk — you've got one of 
the fishes, though perhaps it is but a minny, and I ain't — 
but if I had, I'd show you a thing or two. Be sassy, be 
anything, Mr. Noodle-soup. I don't know which side 
you're on either, but I do know one thing — it isn't saying 
much for your boss politicianer that he chose you when 
I must have been on his list for promotion — that's all, 
though you are so stiff, and think yourself pretty to look 
at. But them that's pretty to look at ain't always good 
'uns to go, or you wouldn't be poking here. Be off — 
there's no more business before this meeting, and you 
may adjourn. It's moved, seconded, and carried — pay the 
landlord for the use of the room as you go." 

The stranger, now becoming somewhat amused, feH a 
disposition to entertain himself a little with Peter. 

" How does it happen," said he, *' that such a public 



138 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

spirited individual as yo^^ appear to be should find him- 
self in this condition ? You've had a little too much of 
the stimulantibus, I fear." 

" I don't know Greek, but I guess what you mean," 
was the answer. "It's owing to the weather — part to 
tlie weather, and part because republics is ungrateful ; 
that's considerable the biggest part. Either part is excuse 
enough, and both together makes it a credit. When it's 
such weather as this, it takes the elccterizing fluid out 
of you ; and if you want to feel something like — do you 
know what 'something like' is ? — it's cat-bird, jam up — 
if you want to feel so, you must pour a little of the elcc- 
terizing fluid into you. In this kind of weather you must 
tune yourself up, and get rosumed, or you ain't good for 
much — timed up to concert pitch. But all that's a trifle — 
put not your trust in politicianers." 

*' And why not, Mr. Rosum ?'* 

** Why not ! Help us up — there — steady she goes — 
hold on ! Why not ? — ^look at me, and you'll see the why 
as large as life. I'm the why you musn't put your trust 
in politicianers. I'm a rig'lar patriot — look at my coat — 
I'm all for the public good — twig the holes in my trou- 
sers. I'm steady in my course, and I'm upright in my 
conduct — don't let me fall down — I've tried all parties, 
year in and year out, just by way of making myself 
popular and agreeable ; and I've tried to be on both sides 
at once,'' roared Brush, with great emphasis, as he slip- 
ped and fell — " and this is the end of it !" 

His auditor laughed heartily at this striking illustration 
of the results of the political course of Peter Brush, and 
seemed quite gratified with so strong a proof of the dan- 
ger of endeavouring to be on two sides at once. He 
therefore assisted the fallen to rise. 

"Are you hurt^" 



PETER BRUSH. 139 

I* No — I m used to being knocked about — the steps 
End the pavement are no worse than other people — 
they're like politicianers — you can't put any trust in 'em. 
But," continued Brush, drawing a roll of crumpled 
paper from the crown of his still more crumpled hat— 
" see here now — you're a clever fellow, and I'll get you 
to sign my recommendation. Here's a splendid charac- 
ter for me all ready wrote down, so it won't give you 
any trouble, only to put your name to it." 

** But what office does it recommend you for — what 
kind of recommendation is it?" 

*' It's a circular recommend — a slap at anything that's 
going." 

" Firing into the flock, I suppose ?" 

"That's it exactly — good character — fit for any fat 
post either under the city government, the state govern- 
ment, or the gineral government. Now jist put your 
fist to it," added Peter, in his most persuasive tones, as 
he smoothed the paper over his knee, spread it upon the 
step, and produced a bit of lead pencil, which he first 
moistened with his lips, and then offered to his interlo- 
cutor. 

" Excuse me," was the laughing response ; " it's too 
dark — I can't see either to read or to write. But what 
made you a politicianer ? Haven't you got a trade ?" 

" Trade! yes," replied Brush, contemptuously ; "but 
what's a trade, when a feller's got a soul ? I love my 
country, and I want an office — I don't care what, so it's 
fat and easy. I've a genus for governing — for telling peo- 
ple what to do, and looking at 'em do it. I want to tako 
care of my country, and I want my country to take care 
of me. Head work is the trade I'm made for — talking — 
that's my line — talking in the streets, talking in the bar 
rooms, talking in the oyster cellars. Talking is the 



140 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

jJTease for the wagon wheels of the body politic and the 
body corpulent, and nothing will go on well till I've got 
my say in the matter ; for I can talk all day, and most 
of the night, only stopping to wet my whistle. But 
parties is all alike — all ungrateful ; no respect for genus — 
no respect for me. I've tried both sides, got nothing, 
and I've a great mind to knock off and call it half a day. 
I would, if my genus didn't make me talk, and think, and 
sleep so much I can't find time to work." 

*' Well," said the stranger, "you must find time to go 
away. You're too noisy. How would you like to go 
before the mayor ?" 

" No, I'd rather not. Stop — now I think of it, I've 
asked him before ; but perhaps if you'd speak a good 
word, he'd give me the first vacancy. Introduce me pro- 
perly, and say I want something to do shocking — no 
not something to do — I want something to get ; my 
genus won't let me work. I'd like to have a fat salary, 
and to be general superintendent of things in general 
and nothing in particular, so I could walk about the 
streets, and see what is going on. Now, put my best 
leg foremost — say how I can make speeches, and how I 
can hurray at elections." 

*' Away with you," said the stranger, as he ran 
up the steps, and opened the door. " Make no noise 
in this neighbourhood, or you'll be taken care of soon 
enough." 

*• Well, now, if that isn't ungrateful," soliloquized 
Brush, — " keep me here talking, and then slap the door 
right in my face. That's the way politicianers serve me, 
and it's about all I'd a right to expect. Oh, pshaw ! — 
sich a world — sich a people !" 

Peter rolled up his "circular recommend," put it in 
his hat, and slowly sauntered away. As he is not yet 



I 



PETER BRUSH. 141 

provided for, he should receive the earliest attention of 
parties, or disappointment may induce him to abandon 
both, take the field "upon his own hook," and constitute 
an independent faction under the name of the " Brush 
party," the cardinal principle of which will be that pecu- 
liarly novel impulse to action, hostility to all " politi- 
tianers" who are not on the same side. 



CI42) 



MUSIC MAD; 

OR, THE MELOMANIAO. 



To be thin-skinned may add to the brilliancy and to 
the beauty of the complexion; but, as this world goes, 
it is more of a disadvantage than a blessing. Where 
there is so much scraping and shaving, the cuticle of a 
rhinoceros is decidedly the most comfortable wear ; and to 
possess any of the senses beyond a certain degree of 
acuteness may be regarded as a serious misfortune. It 
opens the door to an infinite variety of annoyances. 
There are individuals with noses as keen as that of a 
oeagle ; but whether they derive more of pleasure or of 
pain from the faculty, is a question easily answered when 
the multiplicity of odors is called to mind. To be what 
the Scotch term " nose-wise," sometimes, it is true, 
answers a useful purpose, in preventing people in the 
dark from drinking out of the wrong bottle, and from ad- 
ministering the wrong physic ; it has also done good 
service in enabling its possessor to discover an incipient 
fire ; but such occasions for the advantageous employ 
ment of the proboscis are not of every-day occurrence, 
and, on the general average, its exquisite organization is 
an almost unmitigated nuisance to him who is obliged 
to follow from his cradle to his grave, a nose so deli- 
cately constituted, so inconveniently hypercritical, so fre- 
quently discontented, and so intolerably fastidious. 



MUSIC MAD. 143 

They, likewise, who are gifted with that which is 
technically termed a "fine ear,'* have sufferings pecu- 
liar to themselves, and, like the king of Denmark, receive 
their poison through the porches of the auricle. They 
are the victims of sound. It is conceded that from good 
music they derive pleasures of which the rest of the 
world can form but a faint conception ; but, notwith- 
standing the rage for its cultivation, really good music is 
not quite so plentiful as might be supposed, and the pain 
inflicted on the *' family of fine ear" by the inferior arti- 
cle is not to be expressed in words. A discord passes 
through them as freezingly as if it were a bolt of ice ; a 
flat note knocks them down like a mace ; and, if the 
vocalist flies into the opposite extreme, and indulges in 
being a "little sharp," all the acids of the shop could not 
give the unhappy critic a more vinegar aspect, or more 
effectually set his teeth on edge. To him a noise is 
not simply a noise in the concrete ; the discriminating 
powers of his tympanum will not suff'er him, as it were, 
to lump it as an infernal clatter. Like a skilful torturer, 
he analyzes the annoyance ; he augments the pain by 
ascertaining exactly why the cause is unpleasant, and by 
observing the relative discordance of the components, 
which, when united, almost drive him mad. The drum 
qnd the fife, for instance, do very well for the world at 
large ; but " the man with the ear" is too often ago- 
nized at perceiving how seldom it is that the drumstick 
tvvirler braces his sheepskin to the proper pitch, and he 
cannot be otherwise than excruciated at the piteous 
squeaking of its imperfect adjunct — that " false one" 
which is truly a warlike instrument, being studiously 
and successfully constructed for offence, if not for de- 
fence. 

Now it so happens that Matthew Minim is a man 
10 



144 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

with an ear, his tympanum being a piece of most elabo 
rate workmanship. He could sing before he coul4 talk 
and his early musical experiments were innumerable 
The first use he made of his teeth was to bite his nurse 
for singing one strain of " hush-a-by-baby," in three 
keys ; and he could scarcely be prevailed upon to look at 
his pa, because that respectable individual, with a perver- 
sity peculiar to the incompetent, was always subjecting 
poor "Hail Columbia" to the Procrustean bed of his 
musical capabilities, and, while whistling to show his 
own light-heartedness, did any thing but communicate 
corresponding pleasure to his auditors. 

" Screw it up, poppy," would little Minim exclaim, 
with the expression of one upon the rack ; " screw it up, 
and keep it there. What's the use of chasing a tune all 
about?" 

But in some mouths a tune will run all about of itself, 
let their lips be puckered ever so tightly, and there is no 
composition of a popular nature which is so often heard 
performing that erratic feat as the one familiarly termed 
"Hail Curlumby." Matthew's "poppy," therefore, re- 
mained a tune-chaser, while Matthew himself went on 
steadily in the work of cultivating his ear, and of enlarg- 
ing his musical knowledge. He, of course, commenced 
Ins studies with the flute, which may be regarded among 
men and boys as the first letter of the alphabet in mu- 
sical education. He then amused himself with the fid- 
dle — tried the French horn for a season, varying the 
matter by a few lessons upon the clarionet and hautboy, 
and finally improving his powers of endurance by a little 
practising of the Kent bugle. He at length became a 
perfect melomaniac, and was always in danger of being 
indicted as a nuisance by his less scientific neighbours 
whose ears were doomed to suffer both by night and by 



MUSIC MAD. 145 

day. The twangling of stringed instruments was the 
only relief they could obtain from the blasts of those 
more noisy pieces of mechanism which receive voice 
ftom the lips, and it has even been supposed that Mat- 
thew Minim ranged his bugles, trumpets, and fiddles by 
the side of his bed, that he might practise between 
sloeps. 

Not long since, Matthew Minim was returning from 
a musical party late at night, and his friend Jenkinson 
Jinks, who is likewise a votary of the divine art, was 
with him. Minim carried his flute in a box under his 
arm, and Jinks bore his fiddle in a bag on his shoulder. 

"Nature," observed Minim, "is the most perfect of 
musicians ; she never violates the rules of composition, 
and though her performers are often noisy, yet, so long as 
they attempt no more than is jotted down for them, they 
are always in time and in tune. In fact, the world is one 
great oratorio. Hark! — ^listen! throw aside vulgar pre- 
judices, and hear how chromatic and tender are the voices 
of those cats in the kennel ! — consider it as the balcony 
scene from Romeo e Giulietta — how perfectly beautiful 
that slide ! how exact the concord between the rotund bass 
notes of Thomas Cat, and the dulcet intonations of the 
feminine pussy, and how sparkling the effect produced 
by the contrast in the alternate passages ! They are the 
Fornasari and the Pedrotti of this moonlit scene. Bel- 
lini himself, with all his flood of tenderness, never pro- 
duced any thing more characteristic, appropriate, and 
touching ; nor could the most accomplished artistes give 
the idea of the composer with more fidelity." 

" Yes, ma'am," said Jenkinson Jinks, who was not al- 
together capable of entering into the spirit of the refinea 
abstractions in which, after supper, his companion was 
prone to indulge. 
140 



146 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

"Ph-i-t! — ph-i-z !" exclaimed the cats, as they 
scampered away in alarm at the approach of the mu- 
sicians. 

** Staccato and expressive in execution," said Jinks ; 
" but certainly not stay-cat-o in effect." 

*' Admirable !" remarked Minim — " Phit and phiz are 
the exact phrase to express in short metre that it is time 
to be off like a shot, and the notes in which they were ut- 
tered are those best calculated to convey the sense of the 
passage." 

*' A very rapid passage it was, too," added Jinks ; 
*' quite a roulade — the performers are running divisions 
up and down old Boodle's fence — a passage from the 
oratorio of ' Mosey' perhaps." 

" I bar punning," ejaculated Minim, impatiently ; " and 
to elucidate my theory upon the subject of natural music, 
and to prove — " 

"Categorically?" inquired Jinks. 

*' Hush ! To prove that the composer can nave no bet- 
ter study for the true expression of the passions and 
emotions than is to be found in observing the animal 
creation, I shall now proceed to kick this dog, which 
lies asleep upon the pavement, and, without his being at 
all aware of what I want, I shall extract from him a 
heartrending passage in the minor key, expressive of 
great dolor, and of a sad combination of mental and phy- 
sical discomfort." 

'* Stop !" hurriedly exclaimed Jinks, ensconcing him- 
self behind a tree ; " before you give that rfo^matical 
illustration, allow me to inform you that the dog before 
you is old Boodle's Towser — he bites like fury." 

" Bite 1" replied Minim, contemptuously ; " and what's 
a bite in the cause of science, and in the exemplification 
of the minor key?" 



MUSIC MAD. 147 

Minim accordingly gave the dog a gentle push with his 
foot. 

*' Ya-a-a-ah !" angrily and threateningly remonstrated 
Towser, without moving. 

" There — I told you so !" roared Jinks — " that's not 
in the minor key — it's as military a major as ever I heard 
in my life : when I listen to it, I can almost see you in 
the shape of a cocked hat." 

*' Well, then, poke him with your fiddle," said Mi- 
nim, drawing back, and eying the dog rather suspiciously. 
*' Come away from the tree, and give Mr. Boodle's 
Towser a jolly good punch." 

*' Not I," replied Jinks ; " I've no notion of letting my 
Cremona be chawed up agitato by an angry Towser- 
poke him with your flute." 

" No — stop — I'll get at him as it were slantindicularly 
— round a corner," said Minim, retiring so that he was 
partially protected by the flight of steps, from which 
position he extended his leg, and dealt to Mr. Boodle's 
Towser a most prodigious kick. 

" Y-a-h ! y-o-a-h ! — b-o-o !" snarled the dog indig- 
nantly, as he dashed round the corner to revenge the in- 
sult, which was so direct and pointed that no animal of 
spirit could possibly pass it over unnoticed. 

Mr. Matthew Minim turned to fly, but he was not 
quick enough, and the dog entered a detainer by seizing 
him by the pantaloons. 

*' Get out !" shrieked Minim. " Take him ofi*, Jinks, 
or he'll eat me without salt!" 

*' Splendid illustration of natural music !" shouted 
Jinks, clapping his hands in ecstasy; " Con furore! Da 
capo, Towser! — Volti suhito, M.m\m\ — Music expres- 
''ire of tearing your breeches. I never saw a situation 



118 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

at once so picturesque, dramatic, and operatic. Why 
don't you sing 

* Oh, I cannot give expression 
To this dog^s deep felt impression ?* 

for I'm sure, while he bites and you squeal, that he's 
proving to your satisfaction how well nature understands 
counterpoint. Bravo, Towser ! — that's a magnificent 
shake ; but he won't let you favour us with a run, — will 
he, Matthew ?" 

Towser held on determinedly, shaking his head and 
growling fiercely, with his mouth full of pantaloons, 
which, however, being very strong, did not give way and 
suffer the distressed captive to escape. 

" Hit him with a stick — get a big stone !" panted 
Minim — *' quit cracking jokes, for when the cloth goes 
the horrid beast will take hold again — perhaps of my 
flesh, and bite a piece right out !" 

"Very likely — it's better eating than woollens; but 
go on with your duet — don't mind me," added Jinks 
quietly, as he looked about for a missile. Having found 
one sufficiently heavy for his purpose, he took deliberate 
aim, and threw it with such force that the angry animal 
was almost demolished. On finding himself so violently 
assailed, the dog relaxed his jaws and scampered down 
the street, making the neighbourhood vocal with his cries. 

" There, I told you," said Minim, settling his disorder- 
ed dress, and hoping, by taking the lead in conversation, 
to avoid any hard-hearted reference to his misfortune — " I 
toJd you he would sing out in the minor key, if he was 
hurt. Hear that now — the dog is really heartrending." 

" Yes," replied Jinks, " he's quite a tearer of a dog 
— now heartrending, and from the looks of your clothes, 
he was a little while ago really breeches-rending. But 
pick up your flute — the lecture upon natural music is 
over for this evening." 



MUSIC MAD. 149 

*'Um!" growled Minim, discontentedly, as he took 
np his hat and flute-box, and walked doggedly forward. 

Not a word was said while they walked several squares. 
Peter was musing upon the cost of new pantaloons, and 
Jinks chuckled to himself as he thought how capitally 
the story about " natural music" would tell at a small 
party. 

A. protracted silence, however, if men are not alone or 
are not positively occupied, becomes wearisome and an- 
noying, and brings the nerves into unpleasant action. 
Taciturnity, though commended, is after all but a- 
monkish virtue. Nature designed the human race to talk 
when they are together — to be brightened and enlivened 
by an interchange of sentiment; and while gratifying 
themselves by exhibiting their old ideas, to be enriched 
by the reception of new thoughts and fresh impressions. 
So strong is the impulse, that there are many minds 
which, under these circumstances, cannot continue a chain 
of thought, and grow restless and impatient, in the belief 
that the neighbour mind gives out nothing because it 
waits for the lead, and is troubled for the want of it. The 
silence therefore continues, the same idea prevailing on 
both sides, and disabling each from tossing a subject into 
the air, to elicit that volley of ideas or of words, as the 
case may be, which constitutes conversation. The ex- 
emplification is to be met with every day, and never 
more frequently than in formal calls, when the parties 
are not so well acquainted as to be able to find a com- 
mon topic on an emergency. He was not so much of 
a simpleton as people think him, who said a foolish thing 
during the excruciating period of an awkward pause, 
merely for the purpose of " making talk." Every one 
is familiar with plenty of instances, in which a Wamba 



150 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

* to make talk" would have been regarded as a blessing, 
saving those present from the torture of cudgelling torpid 
brains in vain, and from the annoyance of knowing that 
each uncomfortable looking individual of the company, 
though likewise cudgelling, regarded every other person 
as remarkably stupid and unsocial. 

From feelings analogous to those just mentioned, was 
it that Jenkinson Jinks felt it incumbent upon him to 
hazard an observation. He looked about for a cloud, but 
there was none to be seen. He glanced at the stars, but 
they were neither very bright nor very dim. 

"Magnificent houses," said Jinks, at last, by way of 
starting a leading fact, which was at once undeniable and 
calculated to elicit a kindly response. The conscience 
of Jinks rather reproached him with having laughed too 
heartily at Minim's recent misadventure, and he there- 
fore selected a topic the least likely to afford opportunity 
for a petulant reply, or to open the way to altercation. 
Minim received the olive branch. 

*' Yes, but there's a grand mistake about this luxu- 
rious edifice for instance," replied Minim; halting, and 
leaning against a pump in front of a house which was 
adorned with both a bell and a knocker, " the builder 
has regarded the harmony of proportion, and all that — 
he has made the proper distances between the windows 
and doors, — the countenance, expression, and figure of 
the house has been attended to ; but I'm ready to bet, 
without trying, that no one has thought of its voice — na 
one has had the refined judgment to harmonize the bell 
and the knocker, and, luckily for our nerves, knockers 
are going out and have left the field to the bells. But, 
where they remain, there's nothing but discord in the 
vocal department ; and if the servants have ears, — and 
why should they not? — it must almost drive them dis- 



MUSIC MAD. 15 I 

traded. Yes, yes — very pretty — fine steps, fine house, 
bright knocker, glittering bell handle, and plenty of dis- 
cord. It's as sure as that the bell and knocker are there 
in juxtaposition. To be morally certain, I'll try." 

Up strode Matthew Minim to the top of the steps. 

"Now, Jinks — out with your fiddle — it's up to con- 
cert pitch — sound your A." 

Jinks laughingly did as he was ordered, and after a 
preliminary flourish, sounded orchestra fashion, *' Twa-a-a 
— twawdle, tweedle, twawdle — twa-a-a !" 

" Taw-lol-tol-tee — tee-lol-tol-taw !" sang Minim, tra- 
velling up and down the octave, to be sure of the pitch. 
*' Now, listen,-' and he rattled a stirring peal upon the 
knocker. " That's not in tune with us no how you can 
take it — is it. Jinks ?" 

" No — twudle, tweedle, twudle, tweedle !" replied 
Jinks, fiddling merrily, as he skipped about the pavement, 
delicrhted with his own skill. 

*' Be quiet there — now, I'll try whether the bell and the 
knocker are in tune with each other. Let's give 'em a 
fair trial." So saying. Minim seized the knocker in 
one hand, and the bell in the other, sounding them to 
the utmost of his power. 

"Oh, horrid! shameful! abominable! — even worse, 
than I thought — upon my word !— " 

" Halloo, below !" said a voice from the second story 
window, emanating from a considerable quantity of night- 
cap and wrapper ; " what's the matter ? Is it the Ingens, 
or is the house afire ?" 

" I ain't a fireman myself, and I can't tell until the big 
bell rings whether there's a fire or not, ' said Minim ; 
"but, if the house is positively on fire, I advise you as a 
friend to come down, and leave it as soon as possible. 
Bring your clothes, for the weather's not over warm." 



152 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

"Yes," said Jinks; "bring your trousers anyhow, 
for we've only got one whole pair down here." 

" You're a pair of impertinent rascals : what do you 
mean by kicking up such a bobbery at this time of night?" 

" Bobbery ! — don't be cross, fiddle-strings ; always be 
harmonious in company, and melodious when you're 
alone, especially when you snore. I merely wish to in- 
form you that your bell and knocker do not accord. Just 
listen !" 

Bell and knocker were both again operated on vigor- 
ously. 

" Did you ever hear the like ? I'm ashamed of you 
—have them tuned, do — it's dreadful. Tune 'em." 

Once more Minim rang the bell and plied the knocker 
with great vigour and strength of muscle, while Jinks 
played " Nel furor delle tempeste,^^ from II Pirata. 

The night-capped head disappeared from the window, 
and the musical gentlemen stood chattering and laughing, 
the one on the step and the other on the pavement, all 
unconscious of the mischief that was brewing for them. 

" Come," said Minim — " let's give these people a 
duet — a serenade will enlarge their musical capacities." 

" What shall it be ?" queried Jinks, humming a suc- 
cession of airs, to find something suited to the occasion. 

" Something about bells, if you don't know any thing 
about knockers," added Minim, giving the bell handle 
another affectionate tweak. 

Just then, Meinherr Night-cap and Wrapper returned 
to the window, aided by a slout servant, bearing a bucket 
of water. " I'll not call the watch," chuckled he, "but 
I'll teach these fellows how to swim.'* 

" Home, fare thee well, 
The ocean^s storm is over" 

sang Matthew Minim and Jenkinson Jinks. 



MUSIC MAD. 153 

" Not over yet," said the voice from the window, as 
Minim was drenched by the upsetting of the bucket — 
** take care of the ground-swell !" 

A spluttering, panting, and puffing sound succeeded, 

like 

" TJie bubbling shriek, the solitary cry 
Of some strong swimmer in his agony" 

Jinks paddled off rapidly — he had seen enough of the 
Cataract of the Ganges in former times : not so with Mr. 
Minim, who exclaimed, 

*' Fire and fury ! who asked for a water-piece ? If 
* Water parted' is your tune, you may stick to Arne, but 
I'll give you a touch of Kotzwara — a specimen of the 
•Battle of Prague,' with a little of the 'Hailstone 
chorus.' " 

Minim hammered away at the door ; but not being 
able to beat in the panels with his feet, he caught up a 
paving-stone and hurled it against the frame, shouting 
'* Stony-batter !" 

Windows flew up in all directions, and night-capped 
heads projected from every embrasure. The people shout- 
ed, the dogs barked, and rattles wdre sprung all round. 
Never was there heard a less musical din. 

Minim stood aghast. *' Worse and worse !" cried he ; 
*' what a clatter ! Haydn's ' Chaos' was a fool to this ! 
It's natural music, however, and I'll play my part till I 
get in, and catch the fellow who appointed himself the 
watering committee ;" and he, therefore, continued beat- 
ing upon the door. 

Mr. Minim was, however, overpowered by a number 
of individuals, headed by the bucket bearing servant, 
and as his heels were tripped up, he mournfully re- 
marked, 

** So fell Cardinal Wolsey. Will nobody favour us 



154 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

with the ' Last words of Marmion,' or * The soldier tired,' 
* My lodging is on the cold ground,' or something else 
neat and appropriate ?" 

■'Can't you get somebody to bail you?" said a pun- 
ning individual, alluding to Mr. Minim's drenched con- 
dition. 

*' Let him run, Jacob," exclaimed the gentleman with 
the night-cap, speaking from the window ; *' take him 
round the corner, and give him a start. He is sufficiently 
water-lynched, and I want no further trouble on his ac- 
count." 

" I won't go," replied Minim. " I've finished playing 
for the night ; but as you are leader, give the coup d'aV' 
chet, and set your orchestra in motion. I won't walk 
round the corner— carry me — this must be a sostenuto 
movement." 

" Well, if that ain't a good note !" said the admiring 
crowd, as Minim was transported round the corner, 
whence, being set at liberty, he walked drippingly home, 
and ever after confined his musical researches within 
decorous bounds. 



1 



I 155 ) 



RIPTON RUMSEY; 

A TALE OF THE WATERS. 



They who are at all mindful of atmospheric pheno- 
mena must remember a storm, remarkable for its vio- 
lence, which occurred not long since. It was a storm by 
night, and of those abroad at the time, every one averse 
to the shower bath, and having a feline dislike to wet 
feet, will bear it in mind, at least until the impression is 
washed out by the floods of a greater tempest. In the 
evening, the rain, as if exercising itself for more import- 
ant feats, fell gently and at intervals ; but as the night 
advanced, the wind came forth intent upon a frolic. Com- 
mencing with playful gambols, it amused itself at first 
with blowing out the old women's candles at the apple 
stands. Then growing bolder, it extinguished a few 
corporation lamps, and, like a mischievous boy, made 
free to snatch the hats of the unguarded, and to whisk 
them through mud and kennel. At length becoming wild 
by indulgence, it made a terrible turmoil through the 
streets, without the slightest regard to municipal regula- 
tions to the contrary. It weni whooping at the top of its 
voice round the corners, whistled shrilly through the 
key-holes, and howled in dismal tones about the chimney 
tops. Here, it startled the negligent housewife from her 
slumbers by slamming the unbolted shutter till it roared 



158 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

like a peal of artillery; and there, it tossed a rusty sign 
until its ancient hinges creaked for mercy ; while at 
intervals, the heavy tumble of scantling told that when 
Auster chooses to kick up a breeze, he is very nearly as 
good at a practical joke as Boreas, or any other frolic- 
some member of the iEolian family. The clouds too 
threw open their sluices, and the water joining in the 
saturnalia, tried a variety of ways to amuse itself, and its 
capers were as numerous as those of the gale. It beat 
the tattoo upon the pavement with such sportive fury, 
that it was difficult to decide whether it did not rain up- 
ward as violently as it did downward. Anon the breeze 
came sweeping along in a horizontal shower, disdaining 
alike the laws of gravity, and the perpendicular, but more 
nackneyed method of accomplishing its object. In short, 
whether reference be had to wind or to water, it may be 
noted in the journals of those curious in regard to wea- 
ther, as a night equally calculated to puzzle an umbrella, 
and to render " every man his own washerwoman." 

Selecting a single incident from the many, which it is 
natural to suppose might have been found by the aid of a 
diving bell on such a night, it becomes necessary to fish 
up Ripton Rumsey, who happened to be abroad on that 
occasion, as he is upon all occasions when left to consult 
his own wishes. Where Ripton had been in the early 
part of the evening, it would not have been easy either 
for himself or any one else to tell. It is, therefore, fair 
to infer that, distributing his attentions, he had been as 
usual " about in spots." The fact is he has a hobby, 
which, like many hobbies, is apt to throw its rider. Al- 
though temperately disposed, such is the inquiring nature 
of his philosophic spirit, that, with a view perhaps to 
the ultimate benefit of the human race, he is continually 
experimenting its to the efilects of alcoholic stimulants 



RIPTON RUMSEY. 157 

upon the human frame. It is probable, therefore, that on 
this occasion having " imbibed too much of the enemy" 
neat as imported, he had walked forth to qualify it by a 
stroll in the rain. This, however, is irrelevant, where 
he was, is the point at issue. 

The rain came down heavier than ever. A solitary 
watchman, more amphibious than his race in general, 
was seen wending his way through the puddles, think- 
ing, if he thought at all, of the discomforts of those whom 
Noah left behind, and of that happy provision of nature 
which renders a wet back fatal to none but young gos- 
lings. Dodging between the drops was out of the ques- 
tion ; so he strode manfully onward, until he stumbled 
over something which lay like a lion, or a bundle of wet 
clothing, in his path. 

" Why, hello ! — what do you call this when it's biled, 
and the skin's tuck off?" said he, recovering himself, 
and giving the obstruction a thrust with his foot. " What's 
this without ing'ens ?" continued he, in that metaphorical 
manner peculiar to men of his profession, when they ask 
for naked truths and uncooked facts. 

It was Ripton Rumsey — in that independent condition 
which places men beyond the control of circumstances, 
enabling them to sleep quietly either on the pavement 
or on the track of a well travelled railroad, and to repose 
in despite of rain, thunder, a gnawing conscience, or the 
fear of a locomotive. It was Ripton Rumsey, saved from 
being floated away solely by the saturated condition of 
both his internal and external man. 

" It's a man," remarked the investigator,- holding to a 
tree with his right hand, as he curiously, yet cautiously 
pawed Ripton with his left foot. "It's a man who's 
turned in outside of the door, and is taking a snooze on 
the cold water principle. Well, I say, neighbour, jist in 



158 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

a friendly way," added he, giving Ripton a prodigious 
kick as an evidence of his amicable feeling — " if you 
don't get up, you'll ketch a nagee or the collar-and-fix 
you. Up with you, Jacky Dadle." 

Ripton's condition, as before hinted, was beyond the 
ordinary impulses to human action ; and he, therefore, 
endured several severe digs with the foot aforesaid, with- 
out uttering more than a deep-toned grunt ; but at last 
the sharp corner of the boot coming in contact with his 
ribs, he suddenly turned over in the graceful attitude of a 
frog, and struck out vigorously. Like Giovanni's faith- 
ful squire, he proved himself an adept at swimming on 
land. He " handled" his arms and legs with such dex- 
terity, that before his progress could be arrested, he was 
on the curbstone. The next instant heard him plunge 
into the swollen and roaring kennel, and with his head 
sticking above the water, he buffeted the waves with a 
heart of controversy. 

*' The boat's blowed up, and them that ain't biled are 
all overboard !" spluttered the swimmer, as he dashed 
the waters about, and seemed almost strangled with the 
quantities which entered the hole in his head entitled a 
mouth, which was sadly unacquainted with undistilled 
fluids — " Strike out, or you're gone chickens ! them as 
can't swim must tread water, and them as can't tread 
water must go to Davy Jones ! Let go my leg ! Every 
man for himself! Phre-e-e ! bro-o-o ! Who's got some 
splatterdocks ?" 

The watch looked on in silent admiration ; but finding 
that the aquatic gentleman did not make much headway, 
and that a probability existed of his going out of the 
world in soundings and by water, a way evidently not in 
conformity to his desires, the benevolent guardian of the 
night thought proper to interpose ; and bending himself 



■liiii 




" Every man for himself ! Phre-e-e ! bro-o-o ! who's got some splatterdocks?"- 

Book I, page L5S. 



'I 



RIPTON RUMSET. 159 

lo the work, at last succeeded in re-establishing Ripton 
Rumsey on the curbstone. 

" Ha 1" said Ripton, after gasping a few minutes, and 
wringing the water from his face and hair — *' you've 
saved me, and you'll be put in the newspapers for it by 
way of solid reward. Jist in time — I'd been down twyst, 
and if I'd gone agin, Ripton Rumsey would a stayed there 
— once more and the last and the nearest gits it. Only 
think — my eye ! how the shads and the catties would a 
chawed me up ! Getting drownded ain't no fun, and 
after you're drownded it's wus. My sufferings what I had 
and my sufferings what I like to had is enough to make 
a feller cry, only I ain't got no hankercher, and my 
sleeve's so wet it won't wipe good." 

"Yes, young 'un," said the Charley, "s'posing the 
fishes had been betting on elections, they'd have invited 
the other fishes to eat you for oyster suppers, — so much 
majority for sturgeon-nose, or a Ripton Rumsey supper 
for the company— why not ? If we ketch the fishes, we eat 
them ; and if they ketch us, they eat us, — bite all round." 

But the storm again began to howl, and as Ripton 
evidently did not understand the rationale of the argument 
the watchman lost his poetic sympathy for the Jonah of 
the gutters. Even had he heard the fishes calling for " Rip- 
ton Rumseys fried," "Ripton Rumseys stewed," or 
" Ripton Rumseys on a chafing dish," he would have felt 
indifferent about the matter, and if asked how he would 
take him, would undoubtedly have said, " Ripton Rumsey 
on a wheelbarrow." 

" You must go to the watch-house." 

"What fur must I ! Fetch along the Humane Soci- 
ety's apparatus for the recovery of drownded indiwidooals 
—them's what I want — I'm water logged. Bring us one 

of the largest kind of smallers — a tumbler full of brandy 
11 



160 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

and water, without no water in it. I've no notion of 
being diddled out of the sweets of my interesting sitiva- 
tion — I want the goodies — wrap me in a hot blanket and 
lay me by the fire — put hot bricks to my feet, fill me up 
with hot toddy, and then go away. That's the scientific 
touch, and it's the only way I'm to be brung to, because 
when I'm drownded I'm a hard case." 

The Charley promised all, if Ripton would accompany 
him. The soft delusion was believed, and the " hard 
case" was lodged in the receptacle for such as he, where, 
before he discovered the deception, he fell into a pro- 
found slumber, which lasted till morning. The examina- 
tion was as follows : — 

" Where do you live?" 

"I'm no ways petickelar — jist where it's cheapest and 
most convenient. The cheapest kind of living, according 
to my notion, is when it's pretty good and don't cost 
nothing. In winter, the Alms House is not slow, and 
if you'll give us a call, you'll find me there when the 
snow's on the ground. But when natur' smiles and the 
grass is green, I'm out like a hoppergrass. The fact is, 
my constitution isn't none of the strongest ; hard work 
hurts my system ; so I go about doing little jobs for a fip 
or a levy, so's to get my catnip tea and bitters regular — 
any thing for a decent living, if it doesn't tire a feller. 
But hang the city — rural felicity and no Charleys is the 
thing, after all — pumpkins, cabbages, and apple whiskey 
is always good for a weakly constitution and a man of aa 
elewated turn of mind." 

*' Well, I'll send you to Moyamensing prison — quite 
rural." 

The sound of that awful word struck terror to the very 
marrow of Ripton. Like the rest of his class, while 
bearing his soul in his stomach, he carries his heart at 



RIPTON RUMSEY. 161 

the end of his nose, and to his heart rushed the blood 
from every part of his frame, until the beacon blazed with 
a lurid glare, and the bystanders apprehended nasal apo- 
plexy. The rudder of his countenance grew to such a 
size that there was no mistaking the leading feature of 
the case. To see before him, Ripton was compelled to 
squint direfully,andas the beggar in Gil Bias did his car- 
bine, he found himself under the necessity of resting his 
tremendous proboscis on the clerk's desk, while cocking 
his eye at his honour. 

" Miamensin !" stammered Ripton — " Ouch, ouch ! 
now don't ! that's a clever feller. Arch street was all 
well enough — plenty of company and conversation to 
improve a chap. But Miamensin — scandaylus ! Why 
ihey clap you right into a bag as soon as you get inside 
the door, jist as if they'd bought you by the bushel, and 
then, by way of finishing your education, they lug you 
along and empty you into a room where you never see 
nothing nor nobody. It's jist wasting a man — I'm be 
bagged if I go to Miamensin ! — I'd rather be in the Me- 
nagerry, and be stirred up with a long pole twenty times 
a day, so as to cause me for to growl to amuse the com- 
pany. I ain't potatoes to be put into a bag — blow the 
bag !" 

" There's no help for it, Ripton; you are a vagrant, 
and must be taken care of." 

" ThaVs what I like ; but bagging a man is no sort of 
a way of taking care of him, unless he's a dead robin or 
a shot tom-tit. As for being a vagrom, it's all owing to 
my weakly constitution, and because I can't have my 
bitters and catnip tea regular. But if it's the law, here's 
at you. Being a judge, or a mayor, or any thing of that 
tort's easy done without catnip tea; it don't hurt your 
hands, or strain your back; but jist try a spell at smashing 
141 



162 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

stones, or piling logs, and you'd learn what's what with 
out being put in a bag. 

*' Never mind," said Ripton, as he was conducted 
from the office, '* every thing goes round in this world. 
Perhaps I'll be stuck up some day on a bench to ladle 
out law to the loafers. Who knows ? Then let me 
have a holt of some of the chaps that made Miamensin. 
I'd ladle out the law to 'em so hot, they'd not send their 
plates for more soup in a hurry. I'd have a whole bucket- 
ful of catnip tea alongside, and the way they'd ketch 
thirty days, and thirty days a top of that, would make 
'em grin like chessy cats. First I'd bag all the Char- 
leys, and then I'd bag aR the mayors, and sew 'em up." 



( 163) 



A WHOLE-SOULED FELLOW; 

OR, 

THE DECLINE AND FALL OF TIPPLETON TIPPS, 



As the reader may have observed in his journey- 
through life, the shades and varieties of human character 
are infinite. Although the temperaments, like the car- 
dinal numbers, are not multitudinous, yet in the course 
of events they have been so combined with each other, 
and are so modified by circumstance, that ingenuity 
itself cannot institute subdivisions to classify mankind 
with correctness. Whatever it may have been when our 
ancestors existed in the nomadic state and herded in 
tribes, it is difficult now to find the temperaments in their 
pristine purity ; and in consequence, it is but vague de- 
scription to speak of others as sanguineous, nervous, or 
saturnine. Something more definite is required to con- 
vey to the rnind a general impression of the individual, 
and to give an idea of his mode of thought, his habitual 
conduct, and his principles of action. Luckily, however, 
for the cause of science and for the graphic force of lan- 
guage, there is a universal aptitude to paint with words, 
and to condense a catalogue of qualities in a phrase, 
which has been carried to such perfection, that in ae- 



164 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

quiring through the medium of another a knowledge of 
the distinctive moral features of our fellow mortals, it is 
by no means necessary to devote hours to query and 
response. An intelligent witness can convey to us the 
essence of a character in a breath ; a flourish of the 
tongue will sketch a portrait, and place it, varnished and 
framed, in our mental picture gallery. The colours will, 
it is true, be coarsely dashed in, but the strength of the 
resemblance abundantly compensates for deficiency of 
finish. If, for instance, we are briefly told that Mr. Plin- 
limmon is a *' cake," the word may be derided as a cant 
appellation ; the ultra-fastidious may turn up their noses 
at it as a slang phrase ; but volumes could not render our 
knowledge of the man more perfect. We have him as 
it were, upon a salver, weak, unwholesome, and insipid 
— suited to the fancy, perhaps, of the very youthful, but 
by no means qualified for association with the bold, the 
mature, and the enterprising. When we hear that a 
personage is classed by competent judges among the 
*' spoons," we do not of course expect to find him 
shining in the buff*et ; but we are satisfied that in action 
he must figure merely as an instrument. There are 
likewise, in this method of painting to the ear, the nicest 
shades of difference, often represented and made intelli- 
gible solely by the change of a letter, — " soft" being 
the positive announcement of a good easy soul, and 
'* saft" intimating that his disposition takes rank in the 
superlative degree of mollification. When danger's to 
be confronted, who would rashly rely upon a " skulk ?" 
or, under any circumstances, ask worldly advice of those 
verdant worthies known among their cotemporaries as 
decidedly " green ?" 

Such words are the mystic cabala ; they are the key 
to individuality, throwing open a panoramic view of the 



A WHOLE-SOULED FELLOW. 165 

man, and foreshadowing his conduct in any supposed 
emergency. 

Therefore, when we speak of Tippleton Tipps as a 
** whole-souled fellow," the acute reader will find an 
inkling of biography in the term — he will understand 
that Tippleton is likely to be portrayed as " no one's 
enemy but his own" — and from that will have a 
glimpse of disastrous chances, of hairbreadth 'scapes, 
and of immediate or prospective wreck. According to 
the popular acceptation of the phrase, a " whole-soul" is 
a boiler without a safety valve, doomed sooner or later to 
explode with fury, if wisdom with her gimblet fail in 
making an aperture : the puncture, however, being ef- 
fected, the soul is a whole-soul no longer. It must 
therefore be confessed that Tippleton Tipps has not 
thus been bored by wisdom. He has a prompt alacrity 
at a "blow-out" and has been skyed in a "blow-up," 
two varieties of the blow which frequently follow each 
other so closely as to be taken for cause and effect. 

Tippleton Tipps, as his soubriquet imports, is one of 
those who rarely become old, and are so long engaged in 
sowing their wild oats as to run to seed themselves, never 
fructifying in the way of experience, unless it be, like 
Bardolph, in the region of the nose. Before the con- 
densing process was applied to language, he would pro- 
bably have been called a dissipated, unsteady rogue, who 
walked in the broad path which furnishes sea-room for 
eccentricities of conduct ; but in these labour-saving 
times, he rejoices in the milder, but quite as descriptive 
title of a whole-souled fellow, the highest degree attain- 
able in the college of insouciance and jollity. It is, how- 
ever, no honorary distinction, to be gained without toii 
or danger. The road is steep and thorny, and thougli 
in striving to reach the topmost height, there is lio ne- 



166 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

cessity for burning the midnight oil in the retired study, 
yet the midnight lamp, and many of the lamps which 
beam between the noon of night and morning, are often 
incidentally smashed in the process. Aspirants for other 
academic glories become pale with application and pro 
tracted vigils, but the whole-souled fellow will outwatch 
the lynx, and, if his cheek be blanched, the colour ia 
made up in another portion of his visage. He is apt to 
be as "deeply red" as any one, though the locality of 
his acquirements may be different. 

The strict derivation of the title acquired by Tipple- 
ton — the AV. S. F. by which he is distinguished — is not 
easily to be traced. There is, however, a vulgar belief 
that the philosopher who devotes himself to profound 
investigations, whether theoretical, like those of the 
schools, or experimental, like those of the Tippses, is not 
altogether free from flaw in the region of the occiput, 
and hence, as the schoolman has the sutures of his cra- 
nium caulked with latinized degrees, and as one should 
always have something whole about him, fancy and 
charity combined give the fast-livers credit for a " whole- 
soul."' 

Now, Tippleton Tipps always lived uncommonly fast. 
He is in fact remarkable for free action and swift travel, 
existing regularly at the rate of sixteen miles an hour 
under a trot, and can go twenty in a gallop. He sleeps 
fast, talks fast, eats fast, drinks fast, and, that he may get 
on the faster, seldom thinks at all. It is an axiom of his 
that thinking, if not *' an idle waste of thought," is a 
very leaden business — one must stop to think, which 
wastes time and checks enterprise. He reprobates it as 
much as he does pormg over books, an employment 
which he regards as only calculated to give a man a 
"crick in the neck," and to spoil the originality of his 



A WHOLE-SOULED FELLOW. 167 

ideas. A whole-souled fellow knows every thing intui- 
tively — -what is reason with others, is instinct in him. 

When Tippleton was quite a little boy, his moral idio- 
syncrasy manifested itself in a very decisive way. His 
generosity was remarkable ; he was never known to pause 
in giving away the playthings belonging to his brothers 
and sisters ; and his disinterestedness was such that he 
never hesitated an instant in breaking or losing his own, 
if sure of repairing the deficit by foraging upon others. 
No sordid impulse prevented a lavish expenditure of his 
pennies, and as soon as they were gone he " financiered" 
with the same liberality by borrowing from his little 
friends, never offending their delicacy by an oflfer to 
return the loan, — a blunder into which meaner spirits 
sometimes fall. When that statesmanlike expedient 
would no longer answer, he tried the great commercial 
system upon a small scale, by hypothecating with the 
apple and pie woman the pennies he was to receive, thus 
stealing a march upon time by living in advance. There 
being many apple women and likewise many pie wo- 
men, he extended his business in this whole-souled sort 
of a way, and skilfully avoiding the sinking of more 
pennies than actually necessary to sustain his credit, he 
prospered for some time in the eating line. But as every 
thing good is sure to have an end, the apple and pie sys- 
tem being at last blown out tolerably large, Tippleton 
exploded with no assets. By way of a moral lesson, his 
father boxed his ears and refused to settle with his credi- 
tors, — whereupon Tippleton concluded that the sin lay al- 
together in being found out, — while his mother kissed 
him, gave him a half dollar, and protested that he had the 
spirit of a prince and.ought not to be snubbed. As the 
spirit of a prince is a fine thing, it was cherished accord- 
ingly, and Tippleton spent his cash and laughed at the 
pie wom«n. 



168 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

The home department of his training being thus 
carefully attended to, Tippleton went to a variety of 
*' lyceums," " academies," and " institutes," and mosaick- 
ed his education by remaining long enough to learn the 
branches of mischief indigenous to each, when, either 
because he had outstripped his teacher, or because his 
whole-soul had become too large, he was invariably 
requested to resign, receiving on all of these interesting 
occasions the cuff paternal and the kiss maternal, the 
latter being accompanied, as usual, with a reinforcement 
to his purse and a plaudit to his spirit. Tippleton then 
took a turn at college, where he received the last polish 
before the premature notice to quit was served upon him ; 
and at seventeen he was truly " whole-souled," playing 
billiards as well as any ** pony" in the land, and boxing 
as scientifically as the " deaf 'un." He could owe every- 
body with a grace peculiar to himself; kick up the 
noisiest of all possible rows at the theatre, invariably 
timed with such judgment as to make a tumultuous rush 
at the most interesting part of the play ; he could extem- 
porize 2. fracas at a ball, and could put Cayenne pepper 
in a church stove. The most accomplished young man 
about town was Tippleton Tipps, and every year in- 
creased his acquirements. 

Time rolled on ; the elder Tippses left the world 
for their offspring to bustle in, and Tippleton, reaching 
his majority, called by a stretch of courtesy the age of 
discretion, received a few thousands as his outfit in 
manhood. He, therefore, resolved to setup for himself, 
determined to be a whole-souled fellow all the time, 
instead of, as before, acting in that capacity after business 
hours. 

*' Now," said Tipps, exultingly, " I'll see what fun 
is made of — now I'll enjoy life — now I'll be a man !" 



A WHOLE-SOULED FELLOW. 169 

And, acting on that common impression, whicli, how- 
ever, is not often borne out by the result, that when the 
present means are exhausted something miraculous will 
happen to recruit the finances, Tippleton commenced 
operations, — stylish lodgings, a " high trotting horse," 
buggy, and all other " confederate circumstance." It was 
soon known that he was under weigh, and plenty of 
friends forthwith clustered around him, volunteering their 
advice, and lending their aid to enable him to support the 
character of a whole-souled fellow in the best and latest 
manner. Wherever his knowledge happened to be defi- 
cient, Diggs " put him up" to this, Twiggs " put him up" 
to that, and Sniggs "put him up" to t'other, and Diggs, 
Twiggs, and Sniggs gave him the preference whenever 
they wanted a collateral security or a direct loan. Thus, 
Tippleton not only had the pleasure of their company at 
frolics given by himself, but had likewise the advantage 
of being invited by them to entertainments for which his 
own mone}^ paid. 

" Clever is hardly a name for you, Tippleton," said 
Diggs, using the word in its cis-atlantic sense. 

" No back-out in him," mumbled Sniggs, with un- 
wonted animation. 

" The whole-souled'st fellow I ever saw," chimed 
Twiggs. 

Tippleton had just furnished his satellites with the 
cash to accompany him to the races ; for then he was yet 
rather "flush." 

" Give me Tippleton anyhow," said Diggs, — " he's 
all sperrit." 

" And no mistake," chimed Sniggs. 

" He wanted it himself, I know he did," ejaculated 
Twiggs, "but, whole-souled fellow — " and Twiggs but- 
toned his pocket on the needful, and squinted through 



170 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

the shutters at the tailor's boy and the bootmaker's boy, 
who walked suspiciously away from the door, as if they 
didn't believe that 

TippLEToN Tipps, Esq. 

Dr. 

To sundries as per account rendered, 

was *' not in." Tailors' boys, and shoemakers' boys, 
and indeed, bill-bearing boys in general, are matter-of- 
factish incredulous creatures at best, and have no respect 
for the poetic licenses ; they are not aware that whole- 
souled people, like the mysterious ball of those ingenious 
artists the " thimble riggers," who figure upon the sward 
on parade days, race days, hanging days, and other 
popular jubilees, are either in or out as the emergencies 
of the case require. 

But what would not Tippleton do to maintain his 
reputation ? While he had the means, let borrowers be as 
plenty as blackberries, they had only to pronounce the 
" open sesame" to have their wishes gratified, even if 
Tippleton himself were obliged to borrow to effect so 
desirable an object. The black looks of landlords and 
landladies, the pertinacities of mere business creditors, 
what are they, when the name of a whole-souled fellow 
is at stake 1 Would they have such a one sink into the 
meanness of giving the preference to engagements which 
bring no credit except upon books ? Is selfishness so 
predominant in their natures ? If so, they need not look 
to be honoured by the Tippleton Tippses with the light 
of their countenance, or the sunshine of their patronage. 
There is not a Tipps in the country who would lavish 
interviews upon men or the representatives of men, who 
have so little sympathy with the owners of whole-souls 

To such, the answer will invariably be " not in." 

•» * * « « 



A WHOLE-SOULED FELLOW. Ill 

** Tippleton Tipps, I've an idea," said Dig£s. 

*' Surprising," said Tippleton moodily. 

" A splendid idea — a fortune-making idea for you,'* 
continued Diggs. 

Now, it so happened that Tippleton was just in that 
situation in which the prospect of a fortune is a '* splendid 
idea," even to a *' whole-souled fellow." His funds were 
exhausted-^-his credit pumped dry ; the horse and buggy 
had been sequestered, " and something miraculous" in the 
shape of relief had not happened. In fact, affairs were in 
that desperate condition which offers no resource but the 
dreadful one of suicide, or that still more dreadful alter- 
native, going to work, — running away without the means 
being a matter of impossibility. 

" As how ?" interrogated Tippleton dubiously, he 
having but little faith in the money-making schemes 
broached by Diggs, that individual's talent lying quite in 
another direction. 

" As how ?" chorussed Sniggs and Twiggs, who, as 
nard run as their compatriots, snuffed free quarters in the 
word, and a well-filled purse ready at their call. 

" You must marry," added Diggs. " Get thee a wife, 
Tippleton." 

" Ah ! that would improve the matter amazingly, and 
be quite a profitable speculation," replied Tippleton 
ironically. 

*' To be sure — why not ? What's to prevent a good 
looking, whole-souled fellow like you from making a 
spec ? — Grimson's daughter, for instance — not pretty 
but plaguey rich — only child — what's to hinder — eh V 

" Yes — what's to hinder ?" said Twiggs and Sniggs 
jooking at each other, and then at Tippleton — " whole- 
souled — good looking — and all that — just what the girls 
like." 



172 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 



i( 



Perhaps they do, but papas do not," said Tipple- 
ion, with a meditating look ; " as for old Grimson, he 
hates 'em." 

*' Very like ; but you don't want to marry Grimson^ 
get the daughter, and the father follows — that's the plan. 
If it must be so, why make an impression upon Miss 
Jemima first — then shave off your whiskers, uncurl your 
hair, put your hat straight on your head, and swear to a 
reform — quit fun, go to bed early — very hard certainly, 
but when matters are once properly secured, then you 
know — ha ! ha !" and Twiggs sportively knocked Tip- 
pleton in the ribs. 

" Ha ! ha !" laughed Twiggs and Sniggs, poking each 
other in the same anatomical region. 

Although Tippleton had but little fancy for matrimony 
m general, or for Miss Jemima Grimson in particular, 
yet under the circumstances, he felt disposed to venture 
on the experiment and to try what could be done. He 
therefore continued the conversation, which happened 
late one night in a leading thoroughfare, and which was 
interrupted in a strange, startling manner. 

An intelligent " hem I" given in that peculiar tone 
which intimates that the utterer has made a satisfactory 
discovery, seemed to issue from a neighbouring tree-box, 
and as Messrs. Tipps, Diggs, Sniggs, and Twiggs directed 
their astonished regards toward the suspected point, a 
head decorated with a straw hat — a very unseasonable 
article at the time, and more unseasonable from its lid- 
like top, which opened and shut at each passing breeze — 
protruded from the shelter. 

*' Ahem !" repeated the head, seeming to speak with 
*• most miraculous organ," the wintry blast lifting up 
the hat-crown and letting it fall again, as if it were the 
mouth of some nondescript — " Ahem ! I like the specki- 



A WHOLE-SOULED FELLOW. 173 

lation myself, and I must either be tuck in as a pardener 
or I'll peach. I knows old Grimsings — he lent me a kick 
and a levy t'other day, and if I don't see good reason to 
the contrayry, I mean to stick up fur him. It's a prime 
speckilation fur me every-vich-vay." 

The conspirators were astonished, as well they might 
be, at the sudden and unexpected apparition among them 
of another " whole-souled fellow" with a dilapidated hat. 
The stranger was Richard Dout, the undegenerated scion 
of a noble house, the members of which have been con- 
spicuous in all ages — it was Richard, known to his 
familiars by the less respectful, but certainly more affec- 
tionate appellation of " Dicky Dout." He is a man of 
fine feelings and very susceptible susceptibilities, being 
of that peculiar temperament which is generally under- 
stood to constitute genius, and possessing that delicate 
organization which is apt to run the head of its owner 
against stone walls, and prompts him on all occasions to 
put his fingers in the fire. He has, therefore, like his 
illustrious progenitors, a strong aflinity for " looped and 
windowed raggedness," and rather a tendency toward a 
physical method of spiritualizing the grosser particles of 
the frame. But for once, Dout was sharpened for 
*' speckilation." 

" I'm to go sheers," added Dout, as if it were a settled 
thing. 

" Sheer off, you impudent rascal !" ejaculated the 
party. 

" Oh, I don't mind sass," replied he, seating himself 
coolly on the fire-plug, and deliberately tucking up the 
only tail which remained to his coat — " Cuss as much as 
you please — it won't skeer woti know out o' me. Don't 
hurt yourself, said Carlo to the kitten. I'll see Grim- 
sings in the morning, if I ain't agreeable nere — I'm to 



'74 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

have fust every and a shot this time, as the boys says ven 
they're playin' of marvels. Let them knuckle down 
close as can't help it," concluded Dout, as he •whistled 
and rubbed his shin, and remarked that when " sot upon 
a thing he was raal lignum witey." 

" Tippleton!" said Diggs. 

»'Well?" replied Tippleton. 

"A fix I" 

" Ra-a-ther." 

*' Nullum go-urrij^^ added Sniggs, who prided himself 
upon his classical knowledge, 

^^E pluribum uniber, if you come to that," interjected 
Dout. 

" We're caught," added Twiggs, who dealt largely in 
French; " we're caught, tootin in the assembly.^* 

" Does he know us ?" inquired Tippleton. 

*' To be sure," replied Dout — " we whole-souled 
fellers knows everybody in the same line of busi- 



ness." 



This was decidedly a check — the speculators were 
outgeneralled by the genius of the Douts ; so making 
a virtue of necessity, they mollified him by a slight 
douceur scraped up at the time, and large promises for 
the future. Dicky was forthwith installed as boot-cleaner 
and coat-brusher to the party, as well as recipient of 
old clothes, under condition of keeping tolerably sober 
and very discreet. 

Peace being thus concluded, Tippleton Tipps com- 
menced the campaign against the heart of Miss Jemima 
Grimson, who liked whole-souled fellows, and began the 
work of ingratiating himself with his father's old friend 
Mr. Grimson, who cordially disliked whole-souled fellows. 
In the first place, therefore, he ceased to associate pub- 
licly with Diggs, Sniggs, and Twiggs, and contented him- 



A WHOLE-SOULED FELLOW. 175 

self with chuckling with them in private. He silenced 
his creditors by demonstrating to them that he was a 
young man of great expectations, and even contrived to 
obtain advances upon the prospect, wherewith to keep 
nimself in trim and to nourish Dicky Dout. Miss Jf- 
mima was delighted, for Tippleton had such a way with 
him ; while Mr. Grimson's unfavourable impressions 
gradually vanished before his professions of reform and 
improved conduct. The old gentleman employed him 
as a clerk, and had a strong inclination either to " set him 
up" or to " take him in." " Such a correct, sensible 
young man has he become," quoth Grimson. 

Things were thus beautifully en train, when Mr. 
Grimson rashly sent his protege with a sum of money 
to be used in a specified way in a neighbouring city, and 
the protege, who longed to indulge himself in that which 
ae classically termed a "knock-around," took his allies 
Diggs, Sniggs, and Twiggs with him. The " cash proper" 
being expended — the wine being in and the wit being 
out — Tippleton being a whole-souled fellow, and his 
companions knowing it, the " cash improper" was diverted 
from its legitimate channel, and after a few days of roar- 
ing mirth, they returned rather dejected and disheartened. 
* * * * * . 

"Come, what's the use of sighing?" roared Tipple- 
ton, as they sat dolorously in a snug corner at the head- 
quarters of the whole-souled fellows. " The money's 
not quite out — Champagne !" 

" Bravo, Tippleton !" responded his companions, and 
the corks flew merrily — " That's the only way to see 
one's road out of trouble." 

" Another bottle, Dout ! — that for Grimson !" shouted 

Tipps, snapping his fingers — " I'll run off with his 

daughter — what do you say to that, Dicky Dout?" 
12 



*76 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

Dicky dodged the cork which was flirted at liim, and 
regarding the company with a higubrious air, observed: 

" Accordin' to me, gettin' corned's no way — there's 
only two business sitiations in which it's allowable — 
one's when you're so skeered you can't tell what to do, 
and the other's when your eyes is sot and it's no use 
doin' nothin' — when you're goin', and when you're 
gone — it makes you go by a sort of a slant, instead of a 
bumping tumble. It eases a feller down like a tayckle, 
when on temperance principles he'd break his neck. 
For my part, I think this bustin' of yourn looks bad" — 
Dicky filled a glass and drained its contents — " 'spe- 
cially when you're goin' it on crab-apple cider." 

" Get out, Dicky Dout ! — Fetch some cigars, Dicky 
Dout!" 

The party sang songs, the party made speeches, and 
ihe party rapidly drank up the remainder of Mr. Grim- 
son's cash, a catastrophe which in their present state of 
mind did not trouble them at all, except when they re- 
membered that no more money, no more wine. Boniface 
was used to dealing with whole-souled fellows. 

" Order, gentlemen !" said Tipps, rising to deliver an 
address — " I don't get upon my feet to impugn the eye- 
sight, gentlemen, or the ear-sight, gentlemen, of any 
member present ; but merely to state that there are facts 
— primary facts, like a kite, and contingent facts, like 
r)ob-tails — one set of facts that hang on to another set of 
facts" — and Tippleton grasped the table to support him- 
self. " The first of these facts is, that in looking out at 
the window I see snow — I likewise hear sleigh-bells, from 
which we have the bob-tailed contingent that we ought 
to go a sleighing to encourage domestic manufactures." 

" Hurra !" said Diggs and Sniggs — " let's go a 
sleighing 1" 



A WHOLE-SOULED FELLOW. 177 

*' Hurray !" muttered Twiggs, who sat drowsing over 
an extinguished cigar and an empty glass — "let's go a 
Maying !" 

" I have stated, gentlemen," continued Tipps, sway 
ing to and fro, and endeavouring to squeeze a drop from 
a dry bottle — " several facts, but there is another — a 
further contingent — tlie sleighing may be good, and we 
ought to go — but, gentlemen, we've got no money ! 
That's what I call an appalling fact, in great staring capi- 
tals — the money's gone, the Champagne's gone, but 
though we made 'em go, we can't go ourselves !" 

Tippleton Tipps sank into his chair, and added, as he 
BUcked at his cigar with closed eyes : 

"Capitalists desiring to contract will please send in 
their terms, sealed and endorsed ' Proposals to loan.' " 

" Cloaks, watches, and breast-pins — spout 'em," hinted 
Dout from a corner. "We whole-souled people always 
plant sich articles in sleighing-time, and let's 'em crop 
out in the spring." 

The hint was taken. As the moon rose, a sleigh whiz- 
zed rapidly along the street, and as it passed, Tippleton 
Tipps was seen bestriding it like a Colossus, whirling 
his arms as if they were the fans of a windmill, and 
screaming " 'Tis my delight of a shiny night !" in which 
his associates, including Dout, who was seated by the 
driver, joined with all their vocal power- 

" 'Twas merry in the parlor, 'twas meriy in the hall," 
when Tippleton, cum suis, alighted at a village inn. 
Fiddles were playing and people were dancing all over 
he house, and the new arrivals did not lose time in 
adding to the jovial throng. Tippleton, seizing the bar- 
maid's cap, placed it on his own head, and using the 
shovel and tongs for the apparatus of a fiddler, danced 

and played on top of the table, while Dout beat the dob? 
142 



178 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

by way of a drum, and Diggs, Sniggs, and Twiggs dis- 
turbed the " straight fours" of the company in the general 
assembly-room by a specimen of the Winnebago war- 
dance, the whole being accompanied by whoopings after 
the manner of the aborigines. 

The clamor drew the " select parties" into the passages 
to see the latest arrivals from Pandemonium. 

" Who cares for Grimson ?" said Tipps, as he fiddled 
and sung the following choice morceau from Quizembob's 
Reliques of Lyric Poetry — 

" Oh ! my father-in-law to me was cross ; 
Oh Hwas neither for the better, nor yet for the worse; 
He neither ivould give me a cow nor*a horse" — 

when Mr. Grimson and Miss Jemima Grimson from the 
" select parties" stood before him. 

"So, Mr. Tippleton Tipps, this is your reform! 
be pleased to follow me, and give an account of the 
business intrusted to your charge," said Mr. Grimson 
sternly. 

" Ha ! ha !" laughed Tippleton, fiddling up to him — 
*' business — pooh! Dance, my old buck, dance like a 
whole-souled fellow — like me — dance, Jemimy, it may 
make you pretty — 

" He neither would give me a cow nor a horse." 

Mr. Grimson turned indignantly on his heel, and Miss 
Jemima Grimson, frowning volumes of disdain at seeing 
her lover thus attired and thus disporting himself, and 
at hearing him thus contumelious to her personal charms, 
gave him what is poetically termed " a look," and sailed 
majestically out of the room leaning on her father's arm 
" Ha ! ha !" said Tippleton, continuing to fiddle 
• The speckilation's got the grippe," added Dout. 



A WHOLE-SOULED FELLOW. 179 

It was nearly morning when a pair of horses, with 
ihe fragments of a sleigh knocking about their heels, 
dashed wildly into Millet's stable yard. They were the 
ponies which had drawn Tippleton Tipps and his cohort? 
but where were those worthy individuals ? At the 
corner of a street, where the snow and water had formed 
a delusive compound as unstable as the Goodwin sands, 
lay Tippleton half " smothered in cream" — ice cream, 
while " his lovely companions" were strewed along the 
wayside at various intervals, according to the tenacity of 
their grasp. 

" The tea party's spilt," said Dicky Dout, as he went 
feeling among the snow with a fragment of the wreck, 
and at length forked up Tippleton, as if he were a dump- 
ling in a bowl of soup. 

The tableau was striking. The tender-hearted Dout 
sat upon the curbstone with Tippleton's head upon his 
knee, trying to rub a little life into him. It was a second 
edition of Marmion and Clara de Clare at Flodden field, 
the Lord of Fontenaye and Tippleton Tipps both being 
at the climax of their respective catastrophes. 

" Ah !" said Dout, heaving a deep sigh as he rubbed 
away at his patient's forehead, as if it were a boot to 
clean, " this night has been the ruination of us all — 
we're smashed up small and sifted through. Here lies 
Mr. Tipps in a predicary — and me and the whole on 'em 
is litde better nor a flock of gone goslings. It's man's 
natur', I believe, and we can't help it no how. As fur me, 
I wish I was a pig — there's some sense in being a pig 
wot's fat; pigs don't have to speckilate and bust — pigs 
never go a sleighing, quarrel with their daddies-in-law 
wot was to be, get into sprees, and make tarnal fools of 
themselves. Pigs is decent behaved people and good 
"itizens, though they ain't got no wote. And then they 



180 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

naven't got no clothes to put on of cold mornings when 
they get up ; they don't have to be darnin' and patchin' 
their old pants ; they don't wear no old hats on their 
heads, nor have to ask people for 'em — cold wittles is 
plenty for pigs. My eyes ! if I was a jolly fat pig 
belonging to respectable people, it would be tantamount 
to nothin' with me who was president. Who ever see'd 
one pig a settin' on a cold curbstone a rubbin' anothei 
pig's head wot got chucked out of a sleigh ? Pigs 
has too much sense to go a ridin' if so be as they can 
help it. I wish I was one, and out of this scrape. 
It's true," continued Dout thoughtfully, and pulling 
Tippleton's nose till it cracked at the bridge-joint, — " it's 
true that pigs has their troubles like humans — constables 
ketches 'em, dogs bites 'em, and pigs is sometimes almost 
as done-over suckers as men ; but pigs never runs their 
own noses into scrapes, coaxin' themselves to believe it's 
fun, as we do. I never see a pig go the whole hog in 
my life, 'sept upon rum cherries. I'm thinkin' Mr. 
Tipps is defunct ; he sleeps as sound as if it was time to 
get up to breakfast." 

But Tipps slowly revived ; he rolled his glassy eye 
wildly, the other being, as it were, "put up for exporta- 
tion," or "bunged" as they have it in the vernacular. 

"Mister Tipps," said Dout, " do you know what's 
the matter ?" 

"Fun's the matter, isn't it ?" gasped Tipps ; "I've 
been a sleighing, and we always do it so — it's fun this 
way — but what's become of my other eye ? — Where's— 
stop — I remember. The horses and sleigh were in a 
hurry, and couldn't stay — compliments to the folks, but 
can't sit down." 

" Your t'other eye," replied Dout, " as fur as I can 
iee, is kivered up to keep ; the wire-edge is took con- 



A WHOLE-SOULED FELLOW 



181 



eiderable off your nose— your coat is split as if somebody 
wanted to make a pen of it, and your trousers is fractured." 

" Well, I thought the curbstone was uncommonly cold. 
What with being pitched out of the sleigh, and the grand 
combat at the hotel, we've had the whole-souled'st time 
—knocked almost into a cocked hat. But if you don't 
get thrashed, you haven't been a sleighing. What can 
science do in a room against chairs, pokers, shovels, and 
tongs ? Swing it into 'em as pretty as you please, it's 
ten to one if you're not quaited down stairs like clothes 
to wash. Fun alive ! — " 

Here Tippleton Tipps yelled defiance, and attempted 
to show how fields were won — or lost, as in his case ; 
but nature is a strict banker, and will not honour your 
drafts when no funds are standing to your credit. 

" Ah !" panted he, as he fell back into the arms of 
Mr. Dout; " my frolic's over for once — broke ofT with 
Grimson, spent his money— sleigh all in flinders, and I'll 
have to get a doctor to hunt for my eye and put my nose 
in splints. Ha ! ha ! there is no mistake in me— always 
come home from enjoying myself, sprawling on a shut- 
ter, as a gentleman should— give me something to talk 
about — who's afraid ?" 

Even Dout was surprised to hear such valiant words 
from the drenched and pummelled mass before him ; and 
as he stared, Tippleton mutteringly asked to be taken 

home. 

" I'm a whole-souled fellow," whispered he faintly — 
•* whole-souled — and — no — mistake — about — the — mat- 
ter — at — all." 

Assistance and " a shutter" being procured, Tippleton 
Tipps was conveyed to his lodgings, where with a black 
patch across his nose, a green shade over one eye, the 
other being coloured purple, blue, and yellow halfway to 



182 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

the jaw, his upper lip in the condition of that of the man 
" wot won the fight," his left arm in a sling, and his 
right ankle sprained, sat Tippleton for at least a month, 
the very impersonation, essence, and aroma of a " whole- 
souled fellow." As soon, however, as he was in marching 
order, he suddenly disappeared, or perhaps was exhaled, 
like Romulus and other great men, boldly walking right 
through his difficulties, and leaving them behind him in 
a state of orphanage. 

The last heard of Dout was his closing speech after 
taking Tipps home on the night of the catastrophe. 

" My speckilation has busted its biler. To my notion 
this 'ere is a hard case. If I tries to mosey along through 
the world without saying nothin' to nobody, it won't do 
— ^livin' won't come of itself, like the man you owe 
money to — you are obligated to step and fetch it. If I 
come fur to go fur to puddle my tub quietly down the 
gutter of life without bumping agin the curbstone on one 
side, I'm sure to get aground on the other, or to be upsot 
somehow. If I tries little speckilations sich as boning 
things, I'm sartin to be cotch ; and if I goes pardeners, 
as I did with Mr. Tipps, it won't do. Fips and levies 
ain't as plenty as snowballs in this 'ere yearthly spear. 
But talking of snowballs, I wish I was a nigger. Nobody 
will buy a white man, but a stout nigger is worth the 
slack of two or three hundred dollars. I hardly believe 
myself there is so much money ; but they say so, and 
if I could get a pot of blackin' and some brushes, I'd 
give myself a coat, and go and hang myself up for sale 
in the Jarsey Market, like a froze possum." 

Dout walked gloomily away, and the story goes that 
when this whole-souled fellow in humble life was finally 
arrested as a vagrant, his last aspiration as he entered the 
prison, was: "Oh! I wish I was a pig, 'cause they 
ain't got to go to jail !" 



( 183) 



GAMALIEL GAMBRIL; 

OR, DOMESTIC UNEASINESS 



It may be a truism, yet we cannot help recording it as 
o.ir deliberate opinion, that life is begirt with troubles. 
The longer we live, the more we are convinced of the 
fact-^solidly, sincerely convinced ; especially in cold 
weather, when all evils are doubled, and great annoy- 
ances are reinforced by legions of petty vexations. The 
happiest conditions of existence — among which it is 
usual to class matrimony — are not without their alloy. 
There is a principle of equity always at work, and, there- 
fore, where roses strew the path, thorns are sharpest 
and most abundant. Were it otherwise, frail humanity 
might at times forget its mortal nature — as it is apt to do 
when not roughly reminded of the fact — and grow alto- 
gether too extensive for its nether integuments. 

A stronger proof that " there's naught but care on 
every hand," and that it is often nearest when least ex- 
pected, could not be found, than in the case of Gamaliel 
Gambril the cobbler, an influential and well known resi- 
dent of Ringbone Alley, a section of the city wherein he 
has "a voice potential, double as the Duke's." Gama- 
liel's Christmas gambols — innocent as he deemed 
them — terminated in the revolt of his household, 
a species of civil war which was the more distress- 
ing to him as it came like a cloud after sunshine, 



184 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

darker and more gloomy from the preciiding light. It is 
often thus with frail humanity. The keenest vision can- 
not penetrate the contracted circle of the present, and give 
certain information of the future. Who, that sets forth 
to run a rig, can tell in what that rig may end ? The 
laughing child, unconscious of mishap, pursues the sport- 
ive butterfly and falls into a ditch ; and man, proud of 
his whiskers, his experience, and his foresight, will yet 
follow that phantom felicity until he gets into a scrape. 
The highways and the byways of existence are filled 
with man-traps and spring-guns, and happy he whose 
activity is so great that he can dance among them with 
uninjured ankles, and escape scot-free. That faculty, 
which to a man of a sportive turn of mind is more pre- 
cious than rubies, is denied to Gamaliel Gambril. When 
convivially inclined, he is a Napoleon, whose every bat- 
tle-field is a Waterloo — a Santa Anna, whose San Jacin- 
tos are innumerable. 

j^ 1^ '-^ "^ *!* ^P 

It was past the noon of night, and the greater part of 
those who had beds to go to, had retired to rest. Light 
after liirht had ceased to flash from the windows, and 
every house was in darkness, save where a faintly burning 
candle in the attic told that Sambo or Dinah had just 
finished labour, and was about enjoying the sweets of 
repose, or where a fitful flashing through the fan light of 
an entry door hinted at the fact that young Hopeful was 
still abroad at his revels. It seemed that the whole city 
and liberties were in bed, and the active imagination of 
the solitary stroller through the streets could not avoid 
painting the scene. He figured to himself the two hun- 
dred thousand human creatures who dwell within those 
precincts, lying prone upon their couches — couches varied 
as their fortunes, and in attitudes more varied than either 



^ 



GAMALIEL GAMBRIL. 185 

—some, who are careless of making a figure in the world, 
with their knees drawn up to their chins ; the haughty 
and ostentatious stretched out to their full extent ; the am- 
bitious, the sleeping would-be Caesars, spread abroad like 
the eagle on a sign, or a chicken split for the gridiron, 
each hand and each foot reaching toward a different point 
of the compass ; the timid rolled up into little balls, with ^ 
their noses just peeping from under the clothes ; and the 
valiant with clenched fists and bosoms bare — for charac- 
ter manifests itself by outward signs, both in our sleeping 
and in our waking moments ; and if the imagination of the 
speculative watcher has ears as well as eyes, the varied 
music which proceeds from these two hundred thousand 
somnolent bodies will vibrate upon his tympanum — the 
dulcet flute-like snoring which melodiously exhales from 
the Phidian nose of the sleeping beauty; the querulous 
whining of the nervous papa ; the warlike startling snort 
of mature manhood, ringing like a trumpet call, and rat- 
tling the window glass with vigorous fury ; the whistling, 
squeaking, and grunting of the eccentric ; and, in fine, all 
the diversified sounds with which our race choose to ac- 
company their sacrifices to Morpheus. 

But though so many were in bed, there were some 
who should have been in bed who were not there. On 
this very identical occasion, when calmness seemed to 
rule the hour, the usually quiet precincts of Ringbone 
Alley were suddenly disturbed by a tremendous clatter. 
But .oud as it was, the noise for a time continued un- 
heeded. The inhabitants of that locality — who are excel- 
lent and prudent citizens, and always, while they give 
their arms and legs a holiday, impose additional labour 
upon their digestive organs — worn out by the festivities 
of the season, and somewhat oppressed with a feverish 
head-ache, the consequence thereof, were generally 



186 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

asleep ; and, with no disposition to flatter, or to assum* 
more for them than they are entitled to, it must be con- 
ceded that the Ringboners, when they tie up their heads 
and take off their coats to it, are capital sleepers — none 
better. They own no relationship to those lazy, aristo- 
cratic dozers, who seem to despise the wholesome em- 
ployment of slumbering, and, instead of devoting their 
energies to the task, amuse themselves with counting the 
clock, and with idly listening to every cry of fire — who 
are afraid to trust themselves unreservedly to the night, 
and are so suspicious of its dusky face, and so doubtful 
of the fidelity of the " sentinel stars," as to watch both 
night and stars. Unlike this nervous race, the Ring- 
boners have in general nothing to tell when they assem- 
ble round the breakfast table. They eat heartily, and 
grumble not about the badness of their rest ; for their 
rest has no bad to it. They neither hear the shutters slam 
in the night, nor are they disturbed by mysterious knock 
ings about three in the morning. They do not, to make 
others ashamed of their honest torpidity, ask, " Where 
was the fire ?" and look astonished that no one heard 
the alarm. On the contrary, when they couch them- 
selves, they are only wide enough awake to see the 
candle out of the corner of one eye, and nothing is audi- 
ble to them between the puff which extinguishes the 
light and the call to labour at the dawn. When their 
heads touch the pillow, their optics are closed and their 
mouths are opened. Each proboscis sounds the charge 
into the land of Nod, and like Eastern monarchs, they 
slumber to slow music. Ringbone Alley being vocal with 
one tremendous snore. 

No wonder that such a praiseworthy people, so cir- 
cumstanced, should not be easily awakened by the noise 
before allnded to. But the disturbance grew louder; the 



GAMALIEL GAMBRIL. 187 

little dogs frisked and barked ; the big dogs yawned and 
bayed ; the monopolizing cats, who like nobody's noise 
but their own, whisked their tails and flew through the 
<',ellar windows in dismay. The alley, which, like 
Othello, can stand most things unmoved, was at last 
waking up, and not a few night-capped heads projected 
like whitewashed artillery through the embrasures of 
the upper casements, dolefully and yawnfully " vanting 
to know vot vos the row ?" 

The opening of Gamaliel Gambril's front door an- 
swered the question. He and his good lady were earn- 
estly discussing some problem of domestic economy^ 
some knotty point as to the reserved rights of parties to 
the matrimonial compact. It soon, however, became 
evident that the husband's reasoning, if not perfectly con- 
vincing, was too formidable and weighty to be resisted. 
Swift as the flash. Madam Gambril dashed out of the 
door, while Gamaliel, like " panting time, toiled after her 
in vain," flourishing a strap in one hand and a broom in 
the other. Though the night was foggy, it was clear 
that something unusual was the matter with Gamaliel. 
His intellectual superstructure had, by certain unknown 
means, become too heavy for his physical framework. 
Mind was triumphing over matter, and, as was to be ex- 
pected, matter proving weak, the immortal mind had 
many tumbles ; but still, rolling, tumbling, and stum- 
bling, Gamaliel, like Alpheus, pursued his Arethusa; not 
until the flying fair was metamorphosed into a magic 
stream, but until he pitched into an urban water-course 
of a less poetic nature, which checked his race, while its 
waves soothed and measurably tranquillized his nervous 
system. At the catastrophe, Mrs. Gambril ceased her 
flight, but after the manner of the Cossacks of the Don, 



i88 CHARCOAL SKETCHES 

or the Mahratta cavalry, kept circling round the enemy- 
out of striking distance, yet wiihin hail. 

" Gammy Gambril," said she, appealing to the argu- 
rn-entum ad hominem, in reply to that ad haculuni from 
which she fled — " Gammy, you're a mere warmunt — a 
pitiful warmunt ; leave me no money — not at home these 
two days and nights, and still no money ! — now you are 
come, what do you fetch 1 — a tipsy cobbler ! Hot corn is 
good for something, and so is corned beef; but I'd like 
to know what's the use of a corned cobbler ?" 

" Corneycopey for ever ! It's merry Christmas and 
happy New Year, old woman !" said Gambril, raising 
himself with great difficulty to a sitting posture ; " and 
I'll larrup you like ten thousand, if you'll only come a 
little nearer. Ask for money on a Christmas ! — it's too 
aggrawatin' ! — it's past endurin' ! I'm bin jolly myself — 
I'm jolly now, and if you ain't jolly, come a little nearer 
and [^flourishing the strap] I'll make you jolly." 

Much conversation of a similar tenor passed between 
the parties ; but as the argument contiimed the same, no 
new ideas were elicited, until Montezuma Dawkins, a 
near neighbour, and a man of a rather nervous tempera- 
ment — the consequence perhaps of being a bachelor-— 
stepped out to put an end to the noise, which interfered 
materially with his repose. 

" Go home, Mrs. Gambril," said Montezuma Daw 
kins soothingly ; and as she obeyed, he turned to Mr 
Gambril, and remarked in a severe tone, " This 'ere'a 
too bad, Gammy — right isn't often done in the world ; 
but if you had your rights, you'd be between the finger 
and thumb of justice — ^just like a pinch of snuff — you'd 
be took." 

Montezuma Dawkins prided himself on his legal 



GAMALIEL GAMBRIL. 189 

knowledge, for he had made the fires in a magistrate's 
office during a whole winter, and consequently was well 
qualified to lecture his neighbours upon their errors in 
practice. 

" Nonsense," replied Gammy — " me took when it's 
Christmas ! — well I never ! — did any body ever ? — I'm 
be switch'd — " 

** No swearing. This 'ere is a connubibal case — con- 
nubibalities in the street ; and the law is as straight as a 
loon's leg on that pint. You don't understand the law, 
I s'pose ? Well, after you're growed up, and your real 
poppy — or your pa, as the people in Chestnut street 
would call him — can't keep you straight, because you 
can lick him, which is what they mean by being of age, 
then the law becomes your poppy, because it isn't so 
easy to lick the law. The law, then, allows you a wife ; 
but the law allows it in moderation, like any thing else. 
Walloping her is one of the little fondlings of the con- 
nubibal state ; but if it isn't done within doors, and with- 
out a noise, like taking a drop too much, why then it 
ain't moderation, and the law steps in to stop intempe- 
rate amusements. Why don't you buy a digestion of 
the laws, so as to know what's right and what's wrong ? 
It's all sot down." 

*' The law's a fool, and this isn't the first time I've 
thought so by a long shot. If it wasn't for the law, 
and for being married, a man might get along well 
enough. But now, first your wife aggrawates you, and 
then the law aggrawates you. I'm in a state of aggra 
wation." 

*' That all comes from your not knowing law — theru 
that don't know it get aggrawated by it, but them that does 
know it only aggrawates other people. But you ignorant- 
ramusses are always in trouble, 'specially if you'te 



190 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

married. What made you get married if you don't 
like it ?" 

** Why, I was deluded into it — fairly deluded. I had 
nothing to do of evenings, so I went a courting. Now, 
courting's fun enough — I haven't got a word to say agin 
courting. It's about as good a way of killing an evening 
as I know of. Wash your face, put on a clean dicky, 
and go and talk as sweet as nugey or molasses candy 
for an hour or two — to say nothing of a few kisses be- 
hind the door, as your sweetheart goes to the step with 
you. The fact is, I've quite a taste and a genus for court- 
ing — it's all sunshine, and no clouds." 

*' Well, if you like it so, why didn't you stick to it ; it'a 
easy enough ; court all the time, like two pretty people 
in a pickter." 

" Not so easy as you think for; they won't let a body 
court all the time — that's exactly where the mischief lies. 
If you say A, they'll make you say B. The young 'uns 
may stand it because they're bashful sometimes, but the 
old ladies always interfere, and make you walk right 
straight up to the chalk, whether or no. Marry or cut stick 
— you mustn't stand in other people's moonshine. That's 
the way they talked to me, and druv' me right into my 
own moonshine. They said marrying was fun ! — pooty 
fun to be sure !" 

" Well, Gammy, I see clear enough you're in a 
scrape ; but it's a scrape accordin' to law, and so you 
can't help your sad sitivation. You must make the best 
of it. Better go home and pacify the old lady — larrupings 
don't do any good as I see — they're not wholesome food 
for anybody except bosses and young children" — and 
Montezuma yawned drearily as if anxious to terminate 
the colloquy. 

"The fact is, Montey — to tell you a secret — I've » 



GAMALIEL GAMBRIL. 191 

great mind to walli off. I hate domestic uneasiness, and 
there's more of that at my house than there is of eatables 
and drinkables by a good deal. I should like to leave it 
behind me. A man doesn't want much when he gets 
experience and comes to look at things properly— he 
leains that the vally of wives and other extras is tanta- 
mount to nothing — it's only essentials he cares about. 
Now I'm as hungry as a poor box, and as thirsty as a cart 
load of sand — not for water, though ; that's said to be 
good for navigation and internal improvements, but it 
always hurts my wholesome, and I'm principled against 
using the raw material — it's bad for trade. I can't go 
home, even if there was any use in it; and so I believe 
I'll emigrate — I'll be a sort of pinioneer, and fly away." 

*' It can't be allowed. Gammy Gambril. If you try it 
and don't get off clear, the law will have you as sure as 
a gun — for this 'ere is one of them 'are pints of law what 
grabs hold of you strait — them husbands as cut stick 
must be made examples on. If they wasn't, all the he- 
biddies in town would be cutting stick. To allow such 
cuttings up and such goings on is taking the mortar out 
of society and letting the bricks tumble down. Indivi- 
duals must sometimes keep in an uneasy posture, for the 
good of the rest of the people. The world's like a flock 
of sheep, and if one runs crooked all the rest will be sure 
to do the same." 

Gamaliel elevated his eyebrows and shrugged his 
shoulders in contempt at the application of the abstract 
principle to his individual case, and then reverted to his 
original train of thought. After rising to his feet, he 
turned his eyes upward and struck a classical attitude. 

"Marrying fun!" ejaculated he — "yes, pooty fun! 

very pooty !" 

" Keep a goin' ahead," said Montezuma Dawkins, 
13 



192 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

poking him with a stick, — *'talk as you go, and let's hear 
the rights of it." 

'* When I was a single man, the world wagged along 
well enough. It was jist like an omnibus : I was a passen- 
ger, paid my levy, and hadn't nothing more to do with it 
but sit down and not care a button for any thing. S'posing 
the omnibus got upsot — well, I walks off, and leaves the 
man to pick up the pieces. But then I must take a wife 
and be hanged to me. It's all very well for a while ; 
but afterwards, it's plaguy like owning an upsot omni- 
bus." 

*' 'Nan?" queried Montezuma — " What's all that about 
omnibusses ?" 

" What did I get by it ?" continued Gamaliel, regard- 
less of the interruption. " How much fun ? — why a jaw- 
ing old woman and three squallers. Mighty different 
from courting that is. What's the fun of buying things 
to eat and things to M'ear for them, and wasting good 
ppreeing money on such nonsense for other people ? And 
then, as for doing what you like, there's no such thing. 
You can't clear out when people's owing you so much 
money you can't stay convenient. No — the nabbers must 
have you. You can't go on a spree ; for when you come 
home, missus kicks up the devil's delight. You can't 
teach her better manners — for constables are as thick as 
blackberries. In short, you can't do nothing. Instead of 
' Yes, my duck,' and ' No, my dear, — ' As you please, 
honey,' and ' When you like, lovey,' like it was in court- 
ing times, it's a riglar row at all hours. Sour looks and 
cold potatoes ; children and table-cloths bad off for soap 
— always darning and mending, and nothing ever darned 
and mended. If it wasn't that I'm partickelarly sober, 
I'd be inclined to drink — it's excuse enough. It's heart- 
breaking, and it's all owing to that I've such a pain in 



GAMALIEL GAMBRIL. 193 

ny gizzard of mornings. I'm so miserable I must stop 
and sit on the steps." 

" What's the matter now ?" 

*' I'm getting aggrawated. My wife's a savin' critter — 
a sword of sharpness — she cuts the throat of my felicity 
stabs my happiness, chops up my comforts, and snips up 
all my Sunday-go-to-meetings to make jackets for the 
boys — she gives all the wittels to the children, to make 
me spry and jump about like a lamp-lighter — I can't 
stand it — my troubles is overpowering when I come to 
add 'em up." 

" Oh, nonsense ! behave nice — don't make a noise 
in the street — be a man." 

*' How can I be a man, when I belong to somebody 
else ? My hours ain't my own — my money ain't my 
own — I belong to four people besides myself — the old 
woman and them three children. I'm a partnership con- 
cern, and so many has got their fingers in the till that I 
must bust up. I'll break, and sign over the stock in 
trade to you." 

Montezuma, however, declined being the assignee in 
the case of the house of Gambril, and finally succeeded 
in prevailing upon him to abandon, at least for the pre- 
sent, his" design of becoming a " pinioneer," and to return 
to his home. But before Gambril closed the door, he 
popped out his head, and cried aloud to his retiring friend, 

"I say, Montezuma Dawkins ! — before you go — if. 
you know anybody that wants a family complete to 
their hands, warranted to scold as loud and as lons" as 
any, I'll sell cheap. I won't run away just yet, but I 
want cash, for I'll have another jollification a New Year's 
Eve, if I had as many families as I've got fingers and 
toes !" 

143 



( 194 ) 



THE CROOKED DISc:;iPLE > 

OR, THE PRIDE OF MUfcJCLE. 



1 



Nature too frequently forgets to infuse the sympathies 
nto the composition of the human race, and hence the 
world is afflicted with a flood of evils. Imperfect as 
mankind may be in a physical point of view, their moral 
defects are immeasurably greater, and these chiefly flow 
from the dearth of sympathy. Social off'ences, as well 
as crimes, are in general born from this cause, and the 
sins of humanity are to be charged upon selfishness, the 
weed that chokes all wholesome plants in the garden of 
the heart, and exhausts the soil. It manifests itself in a 
variety of ways. In one instance, being combined with 
other essentials, it makes a mighty conqueror ; in another, 
a petty larcenist ; one man beats his wife and sots at an 
alehouse ; another sets the world in a blaze, and dying, 
becomes the idol of posterity ; all from the same cause— 
a mind concentred on itself. 

The forms which govern society were intended to 
counteract the aforesaid neglect of dame nature, and to 
keep selfishness in check ; it having been early dis- 
covered that if every one put his fingers in the dish at 
once, a strong chance existed that the contents thereof 
would be spilt, and all would be compelled to go home 
hungry. It was equally clear that if each individual 



THE CROOKED DISCIPLE. 195 

tucked up his coat tails, and endeavoured to monopolize 
the fire, the whole company would be likely to catch 
cold. The canon was therefore issued that " after you'* 
should be " manners ;" and that, however anxious one 
may be to get the biggest piece, he should not obey the 
promptings of nature by making a direct grab ; but rather 
effect his object by indirect management — such as placing 
the desired morsel nearest himself, and then handing the 
plate — a species of hocus pocus, which puts the rest of 
the company in the vocative, and enables the skill of 
civilization quietly to effect that which in earlier times 
could only be accomplished by superior force, and at the 
hazard of upsetting the table. If sympathy were the 
growth of every mind, politeness and deference would be 
spontaneous ; but as it is not, a substitute — a sort of 
wooden leg for the natural one — was invented, and hence 
** dancing and manners" are a part of refined education. 
Wine glasses are placed near the decanter, and tumblers 
near the pitcher, that inclination may receive a broad hint, 
and that the natural man may not rob the rest of the 
company of their share of comfort, by catching up and 
draining the vessels at a draught. Chairs stand near the 
dinner table to intimate that, however hungry one may 
be, it is not the thing to jump upon the board, and, 
clutching the whole pig, to gnaw it as a school-boy does 
an apple ; while plates, with their attendant knives and 
forks, show that each one must be content with a portion, 
and use his pickers and stealers as little as possible. To 
get along smoothly, it was also ordained that we must smile 
when it would be more natural to tumble the intruder 
out of the window ; and that no matter how tired we may 
be, we must not, when another is about taking our seat, 
pull it from under him, and allow him to bump on tiie 
floor. 



196 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

Although education has done much to supply deficien- 
cies, and to make mock sympathy out of calves' heads 
when the real article is not to be found, yet education, 
potent as it is, cannot do all things. " Crooked disciples" 
will exist from time to time, and to prove it, let the story 

b3 told of 

Jacob Grigsby. 

Of crooked disciples, Jacob Grigsby is the crookedest. 
His disposition is twisted like a ram's horn, and none 
can tell in what direction will be the next turn. He is 
an independent abstraction — one of that class, who do 
not seem aware that any feelings are to be consulted but 
their own, and who take the last bit, as if unconscious 
that it is consecrated to that useful divinity " manners ;" 
lads, who always run in first when the bell rings, and 
cannot get their boots oflf when any body tumbles over- 
board ; who, when compelled to share their bed with 
another, lie in that engrossing posture called " catty- 
cornered," and when obliged to rise early, whistle, sing 
and dance, that none may enjoy the slumbers denied to 
them ; — in short, he strongly resembles that engaging 
species of the human kind, who think it creditable to 
talk loud at theatres and concerts, and to encore songs 
and concertos which nobody else wants to hear. Grigs- 
by was born with the idea that the rest of the world, 
animate or inanimate, was constructed simply for his 
special amusement, and that if it did not answer the pur- 
pose, it was his indefeasible right to declare war against 
the offender. When a boy, he was known as a " real 
limb" — of what tree it is unnecessary to specify. He 
was an adept in placing musk melon rinds on the pave- 
ment for the accommodation of those elderly gentlemen 
whose skating days were over, and many a staid matron 
received her most impressive lessons in ground and loftj 



THE CROOKED DISCIPLE. 197 

tumbling, by the aid of cords which he had stretched 
across the way. "Every child in the neighbourhood 
learnt to " see London" through his telescope, and he 
was famous for teaching youngsters to write hog Latin 
by jerking pens full of ink through their lips. At school 
he was remarkable for his science in crooking pins, and 
lAacing them on the seats of the unsuspicious, and ever 
since he has continued to be a thorn in the side of those 
who are unlucky enough to come in contact with him. 

Grigsby has now grown to man's estate — a small pro- 
perty in most instances, and in his it must be simply the 
interest of his whiskers, which extend some inches be- 
yond his nose and chin — he having nothing else clear 
of embarrassment. He is said to be more of a limb than 
ever, his unaccommodating spirit having increased with 
his trunk. The good qualities which were to appear in 
him are yet in the soil, no sprouts having manifested 
themselves. He is savagely jocular in general, and jo- 
cosely quarrelsome in his cups in particular. He stands 
like a bramble in life's highway, and scratches the cuticle 
from all that passes. 

This amiable individual is particularly fond of culti- 
vating his physical energies, and one of his chief delights 
is in the display of his well practised powers. He some- 
times awakens a friend from a day dream, by a slap on 
the shoulder which might be taken for the blow of a can- 
non ball. His salutation is accompanied by a grasp of 
your hand, so vigorously given that you are painfully 
reminded of his affectionate disposition and the strength 
of his friendship for a week afterwards ; and he smiles to 
see his victims writhe under a clutch which bears no 
little resemblance in its pressure to the tender embrace 
of a smith's vice. To this Herculean quality Grigsby 
always recurs with satisfaction, and indeed it must be 



198 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

confessed that superiority, either real or imagined, is a 
great source of pleasure in this mundane sphere. There 
are few who do not derive satisfaction from believing 
that, in some respect, they are more worthy than their 
neighbours — and self-love, if the truth were known, per- 
forms many curious operations to enable its possessor to 
enjoy the delight of thinking that there are points in 
which he is unsurpassed. Should his countenance be 
of the most unprepossessing cast, he gazes in the mirror 
until convinced that whatever is lost in beauty, is gained 
in expression. Should he have a temper as rash and un- 
reasonable as the whirlwind, it is to him but a proof of 
superior susceptibility and of an energetic will ; if thin, 
he is satisfied that he possesses a free unencumbered 
spirit ; and if nature has provided him with a super 
abundance of flesh, he comforts himself with the idea of 
an imposing aspect, and of being able, physically at least, 
to make a figure in the world. The melancholy man, 
instead of charging his nervous system with treachery, 
or his stomach with disaff'ection, finds a stream of sun- 
shine in his gloom, from the impression that it is left to 
him alone to see reality divested of its deceptive hues— 
and smiles sourly on the merry soul who bears it as if 
existence were a perpetual feast, and as if he were a but- 
terfly upon an ever-blooming prairie. 

The pride of art likewise comes in as a branch of this 
scheme of universal comfort. The soldier and the poli- 
tician rejoice in their superior skill in tactics and strate- 
gic — and even if foiled, charge the result upon circum- 
stances beyond their control ; while even the scavenger 
plumes himself upon the superior skill and accuracy with 
which he can execute the fancy work of sweeping round 
a post : but none feel the pride of which we speak more 
strongly than those who are addicted to the practice of 



THE CROOKED DISCIPLE. 199 

^'mnastics. They have it in every muscle of Iheir 
frames ; their very coats are buttoned tight across the 
breast to express it ; and it is exhibited on every possible 
occasion. In their dwellings, wo upon the tables and 
chairs — and they cannot see a pair of parallels or cross 
bars without experimenting upon them. 

At a period when Grigsby was in the full flush of his 
gymnastic powers, he returned from a supper late at 
night, with several companions. After Grigsby had 
created much polite amusement by torturing several dogs 
and sundry pigs, they attempted a serenade, but they 
were not in voice ; and after trying a cotillion and a ga- 
lopade in front of the State House, which were not quite 
so well executed as might have been desired, they sepa- 
rated, each to his home — if he could get there. Grigsby 
strolled along humming a tune, until his eye happen- 
ed to be greeted by the welcome sight of an awning-post. 
He stopped, and regarded it for a long time with critical 
gravity. 

" This will answer famously," said he. *' Tom brags 
that he can beat me with his arms ; but I don't believe 
it. Any how, his legs are no great shakes. There's no 
more muscle in them than there is in an unstarched shirt 
collar ; and I don't believe, if he was to practise for ten 
years, he could hang by his toes, swing up and catch 
hold. No, that he couldn't ; I'm the bo}-, and I'll exer- 
cise at it." 

It is however much easier to resolve than to execute. 
Mr. Grigsby found it impossible to place himself in the 
requisite antipodean posture. 

"Why, what the deuse is the matter? All the supper 
must have settled down in my toes, for my boots feel 
hpavier than fifty-sixes. My feet are completely obfus- 
cated, W'hile my head is as clear as a bell. But ' never 



200 OHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

despair' is tlie motto — here's at it once more," continued 
he, making another desperate but ineffectual effort. 

An individual with a white hat and with his hands 
deeply immersed in the pockets of his shooting jacket, 
now advanced from the tree against which he had been 
leaning, while chuckling at the doings of Mr. Grigsby. 

" Hay, whiskers, what's the fun in doing that, parti- 
cularly when you can't do it?" said he. 

" Can you hang by your toes, stranger? Because if 
you can, you'll beat Tom, in spite of his bragging." 

" I don't believe I can. The fact is, I always try to 
keep this side up with care. I never could see the use of 
shaking a man up like a bottle of physic. I can mix my- 
self to my own taste without that." 

" You've no taste for the fine arts, whatever you may 
have for yourself. Gymnastics stir up the sugar of a 
man's constitution, and neutralize the acids. Without 
'em, he's no better than a bottle of pepper vinegar — 
nothing but sour punch." 

" Very likely, but I'll have neither hand nor foot in 
hanging to an awning-post. If it was like the brewer's 
horse in Old Grimes, and you could drink up all the beer 
by turning your head where your feet should be, perhaps 
I might talk to you about it." 

Grigsby, hov/ever, by dint of expatiating on the bene- 
ficial tendency of gymnastics, at last prevailed upon the 
stranger to make the attempt. 

" Now," said he, "let me bowse you up, and if you 
can hang by your toes, I'll treat handsome." 

'* Well, I don't care if I do," replied the stranger 
with a grin, as he gi-asped the cross-bar — " hoist my 
hee^s and look sharp." 

Jacob chuckled as he took the stranger by the boots 
intending to give him a fall if possible, and to thrash him 



I 



THE CROOKED DISCIPLE. 



201 



if he grumbled; but the victim's hold was insecure, and 
he tumbled heavily upon his assistant, both rolling on the 

bricks together. 

" Fire and tow !" ejaculated Grigsby. 

** Now we're mixed nicely," grunted the stranger, as 
he scrambled about. " If any man gets more legs and 
arms than belong to him, they're mine. Hand over the 
odd ones, and let's have a complete set." 

' This will never do," said Grigsby, after they had 
regained their feet, and still intent on his design. "It 
will never do in the world— you're so confoundedly 
awkward. Come, have at it again ; once more and the 

last." 

" Young people," interposed a passing official, " if 
you keep a cutting didoes, I must talk to you both like 
a Dutch uncle. Each of you must disperse ; I can't allow 
no insurrection about the premises. If you ain't got no 
dead-latch key, and the nigger won't set up, why I'll 
take you to the corporation free-and-easy, and lock you 
up till daylight, and we'll fetch a walk after breakfast 
to converse with his honour on matters and things in 

general." 

"Very well," answered Grigsby— " but now you've 
made your speech, do you think you could hang by your 
toes to that post?" 

" Pooh ! pooh ! don't be redikalis. When matters is 

solemn, treat 'em solemn." 

" Why, I ain't redikalis — we're at work on science. 
I'm pretty well scienced myself, and I want to get 



more so." 



" Instead of talking, you'd better paddle up street like 
a white-head. Go home to sleep like your crony— see 
how he shins it." 

" I will," said Grigsby, who likes a joke occasionally, 



202 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

and is very good humoured when it is not safe to be 
otherwise — " I will, if you'll tell me what's the use. In 
the first place, home's a fool to this — and as for sleeping, 
it's neither useful nor ornamental." 

" Do go, that's a good boy — I don't want to chaw you 
right up, but I must if you stay." 

** I snore when I'm asleep — and when I do, Torn 
puts his foot out of bed till it's cold, and then claps it to 
my back. He calls it firing me off on the cold pressure 
principle." 

" What a cruel Tom ! But why don't you keep your 
mouth shut ? You should never wear it open when you're 
asleep." 

" If I did, my dreams would get smothered. Besides, 
I like to look down my throat, to see what I'm thinking 
about." 

*' Don't quiz me, young man. Some things is easy to 
put up with, and some things isn't easy to put up v/ith; 
and quizzing a dignittery is one of the last. If there is 
any thing I stands upon, it's dignitty." 

*' Dignitty made of pipe-stems, isn't it ?" 

*' My legs is pretty legs. They ain't so expressive as 
some what's made coarser and cheaper ; but they're slim 
and genteel. But legs are neither here nor there. You 
must go home, sonny, or go with me." 

*' Well, as I'm rather select in my associations, and 
never did admire sleeping thicker than six in abed at the 
outside, I'll go home, put a woollen stocking on Tom's 
foot, and take a pint of sleep : I never try more, for my 
constitution won't stand it. But to-morrow I'll sv/ing by 
my toes, I promise you." 

" Go, then. Less palaver and more tortle." 

" Tortelons nous — good night ; I'm ofl'to my /i7." 

The censor morum wrapping himself in his conse- 



THE CROOKED DISCIPLE. 203 

quence, paused, looked grave until Grigsby turned the 
corner, and then, relaxing his dignitty, laughed creak- 
ingly, like a rusty door. 

" Hee ! hee ! hee ! — that's a real fine feller. He's too 
good for his own good— makes something of a fuss every 
night — always funny or fighting, and never pays his debts. 
Hee ! hee ! hee ! a real gentleman — gives me half a dol- 
lar a New Year's — a real — past two o'clock and a cloudy 
morning ! — sort of a gentleman, and encourages our busi- 
ness like an emperor, only I haven't got the heart to take 

advantage of it." 

* * ^ * * 

Jacob Grigsby moved homeward, his temper souring as 
he proceeded and as the pleasant excitement of the even- 
ing began to wear off. Some people, by the way, are 
always good humoured abroad, and reserve their savage 
traits for home consumption. Of this class is Grigsby. 

Where he boards, the rule is to stow thick — three in a 
bed when the weather is warm, and, in the colder season, 
by way of saving blankets, four in a bed is the rule. 
Now, even three in a bed is by no means a pleasant 
arrangement at the best, when the parties are docile in 
their slumbers, and lie " spoon fashion," all facing the 
same way, and it is terrible if one of the triad be of an 
uneasy disposition. Grigsby's " pardeners," however, 
are quiet lads, and there is an understanding among the 
three that turn about shall be the law in regard to the 
middle place, which therefore falls to his share every third 
week — one week in, and two weeks out — the soft never 
to be monopolized by any one individual, and nobody to 
turn round more than once in the course of the night. 
Grigsby is borne down by the majority ; but when it is his 
week in, he is worse than the armed rhinoceros or the 
Hyrcan tiger, so ferocious are his ebullitions of wrath. 



204 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

It happened to be his week *' in," the thought whereof 
moved his ire, and he ascended the stairs with the 
energetic tread of an ox, set fire to the cat's tail with the 
candle, and poked a long nine down Carlo's throat. 

" Ha !" said Jacob, as he kicked open the door, sur- 
veyed his sleeping bedfellows, and flashed the light in 
their eyes — " mighty comfortable that, anyhow ; but I'll 
soon spoil it, or I'm not a true Grigsby." 

He put out the light, and in full dress — boots, hat, 
great coat, body coat, and pantaloons — muddy as he was, 
scrambled over the bed two or three times, until he es- 
tablished himself in the central station between his co 
mates. He rolled and he tossed, he kicked and he groaned, 
until the whole concern were as v/ide awake as himself. 

*' Why, Jacob, you've got your boots on," said they. 

" The fact is, fellows, the cold in my head is getting 
■worse, and sleeping in boots draws down the inflamma- 
tion. It's a certain cure." 

" But you don't intend sleeping with your hat on your 
iiead, do you ?" 

'• Didn't I tell you I've got holes- in my stockings ? If 
1 don't keep my hat on, I'll be sure to have the rheuma 
tism in my big toe." 

*' Well, we won't stand it, no how it can be fixed." 

*' Just as you like — go somewhere else — I've no ob 
jection. I'm amazing comfortable." 

*' Why, thunder and fury !" said one, jerking up his 
leg, "your boots are covered with mud." 

*' That are a fact — you've no idea how muddy the 
streets are — I'm all over mud — I wish you'd blow up the 
corporation. But hang it, give us a fip's worth of sheet 
and a 'levy s worth of blanket. That's the way I like 
'em mixed — some lean and a good deal of fat." 

So saying, Jacob wound himself up in the bed-clothes 



THE CROOKED DISCIPLE. 205 

with a prodigious flounder, denuding his companion8 
entirely. 

Grigsby's co-mates however, knowing that " who 
would be free, themselves must strike the blow," declared 
war against the manifold outrages of their oppressor, 
and, notwithstanding his gymnastic powers, succeeded in 
obtaining the mastery. Much enraged, they resolved 
upon carrying him down stairs and placing him under 
the hydrant as a punishment for his violations of the 
social compact, and were proceeding to put their de- 
termination in force, when Bobolink and the rest of ihe 
boarders, alarmed at the noise, popped out of their cham- 
bers. 

"What's the fraction — vulgar or decimal ?" said Bobo- 
link. 

"Vengeance!" panted Grigsby — "revenge! I'm in- 
sulted — let me go !" 

The cause of quarrel was explained — all cried shame 
upon Mr. Jacob Grigsby, and Mr. Bobolink constituted 
nimself judge on the occasion. 

" They kicked me !" roared the prisoner. 

" Yes," replied Bobolink, " but as they hadn't their 
Doots on, it wasn't downright Mayor's court assault and 
battery — only an insult with intent to hurt — assault and 
battery in the second degree — a species of accidental 
homicide. Perhaps you were going down stairs, and tney 
walked too quick after you — toeing it swift, and 'mosi 
walked into you. What was it for ?" 

" Look ye," said Grigsby — " it's very late — yes, it's 
nearly morning, and I didn't take time to fix myself for 
a regular sleep, so I turned in like a trooper's horse, and 
that's the whole matter." 

" Like a trooper's horse — how's that?" 

"I'll explain,** said one of the spectators — "to turn 



206 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

in like a troopers horse is to go to bed all standing, 
ready for a sudden call — parade order — winter uniform-^ 
full dress — a very good fashion when you've been out to 
supper — convenient in case of fire, and saves a deal of 
trouble in the morning when you're late for breakfast." 

" Well, I never heard tell of the likes on the part of a 
white man. They servedyou right, and my judgment is, 
as you won't be quiet, that you be shut in the back-cellar 
till breakfast time. I'm not going to have any more row. 
If you don't like it, you can appeal afterwards." 

" Never heerd the likes !" said Jacob contemptu 
ously ; " ain't abed a bed — ain't my share of it, my share 
of it ? — and where's the law that lays down what sort of 
clothes a man must sleep in ? I'll wear a porcupine jacket, 
and sleep in it too, if I like — yes, spurs, and a trumpet, 
and a spanner." 

" Put him in the cellar," was the reply, and in spite 
of his struggles the sentence was laughingly enforced. 

" Bobolink, let's out, or I'll burst the door — let's out-^ 
I want vengeance !" 

" Keep yourself easy — you can't have any vengeance 
till morning. Perhaps they'll wrap some in a bit of paper, 
and keep it for you." 

But in the morning Grigsby disappeared, and retuined 
no more 



( 207 ) 



FYDGET FYXINGTON. 



The illustrious Pangloss, who taught the metanhy- 
8ico-theologo-cosmolo-nigology at the Westphalian cha- 
teau of the puissant Baron Thundertentronckh, held it 
as a cardinal maxim of his philosophy, que tout est 
au mieux ; that "it's all for the best." Pangloss 
was therefore what is called an optimist, and discontent — 
to use the favourite word of the slang-whangers — was 
repudiated by him gnd his followers. This doctrine, 
however, though cherished in the abstract, is but little 
practised out of the domain of Thundertentronckh. The 
world is much more addicted to its opposite. " All's for 
the worst" is a very common motto, and under its influ- 
ence there are thousands who growl when they go to bed, 
and growl still louder when they get up ; they growl at 
their breakfast, they growl at their dinner, they grov/1 at 
theii supper, and they growl between meals. Discontent 
is written in every feature of their visage ; and they go 
on from the beginning of life until its close, always growl- 
ing, in the hope of making things better by scaring them 
into it with ugly noises. These be your passive grum- 
bletonians. When the castle was on fire, Sir Abel Handy 
stood wringing his hands, in expectation that the fire 
would be civil enough to go out of itself. So is it with 
the passive. He would utter divers maledictions upoii 
the heat, but would sit still to see if the flame could not 

be scolded into gohig out of itself. 
14 



208 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

The active grumbletonians, however, though equally 
opposed in practice to the metaphysico-theologo-cos- 
molo-nigology, are a very different race of mortals from 
the passives. The world is largely indebted to them for 
every comfort and convenience with which it abounds ; 
and they laugh at the inquiry whether their exertions 
have conduced to the general happiness, holding it tha* 
happiness consists chiefly in exertion — to which the pas- 
sives demur, as they look back with no little regret to 
the lazy days of pastoral life, when Chaldean shepherds 
lounged upon the grass. The actives are very much 
inclined to believe that whatever is, is wrong; bul 
then they have as an offset, the comfortable conviction 
that they are able to set it right — an opinion which fire 
cannot melt out of them. These restless fellows are in 
a vast majority ; and hence it is that the surface of this 
earthly sphere is such a scene of activity ; hence it is that 
for so many thousand years, the greater part of each 
generation has been unceasingly employed in labour and 
bustle ; rushing from place to place ; hammering, sawing, 
and driving ; hewing down and piling up mountains ; and 
unappalled, meeting disease and death, both by sea and 
land. To expedite the process of putting things to rights, 
likewise, hence it is that whole hecatombs of men have 
been slaughtered on the embattled field, and that the cord, 
the fagot, and the steel have been in such frequent de 
mand. Sections of the active grumbletonians sometimes 
differ about the means of making the world a more com- 
fortable place, and time being short, the labour-saving 
process is adopted. The weaker party is knocked on 
the head. It saves an incalculable deal of argument, and 
answers pretty nearly the same end. 

But yet, though the world is many years old, and 
the *' fixing process" has been going -on ever sincf, it 



FYDGET FYXINGTON. 209 

emerged from chaos, it seems that much remains undone, 
with less time to do it in. The actives consequently 
redouble their activity. They have calleJ in the aid of 
gunpowder and steam, and in this goodly nineteenth cen- 
tury are kicking up such a terrible dust, and are setting 
things to rights at such a rate, that the passives have no 
comfort of their lives. Where they herd in nations, as in 
Mexico, the actives cluster on their borders and set things 
to rights with the rifle ; and when they are solitary amid 
the crowd, as among us, they are fretted to fiddlestrings, 
like plodding shaft horses with unruly leaders. They are 
environed with perils. In one quarter, hundreds of 
stately mansions are brought thundering to the ground, 
because the last generation put things to rights in the 
wrong way, and in another quarter, thousands are going 
up on the true principle. Between them both, the pas- 
sive is kept in a constant state of solicitude, and threads 
his way through piles of rubbish, wearing his head askew 
like a listening chicken, looking above with one eye, to 
watch what may fall on him, and looking below with the 
other, to see what he may fall upon. Should he travel, he is 
placed in a patent exploding steamboat, warranted to boil 
a gentleman cold in less than no time ; or he is tied to the 
tail of a big steam kettle, termed a locomotive, which 
goes sixty miles an hour horizontally, or if it should meet 
impediment, a mile in half a second perpendicularly. 
Should he die, as many do, of fixo-phobia, and seek pecce 
under the sod, the spirit of the age soon grasps the spade 
and has him out to make way for improvement. 

The passive grumbletonian is useless to himself and 
to others : the active grumbletonian is just the reverse. 
In general, he combines individual advancement M'ith 
public prosperity ; but there are exceptions even in that 

class — men, who try to take so much care of the world 
144 



210 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

that they lorget themselves, and, of course, fail in their 
intent. 

Such a man is Fydget Fyxington, an amelioration- 
of-the-human-race-by-starling-from-first-principles-phiio- 
sopher. Fydget's abstract principle, particularly in 
matters of government and of morals, is doubtless a 
sound rule ; but he looks so much at the beginning 
that he rarely arrives at the end, and when he advances 
at all, he marches backward, his face being directed to- 
ward the starting place instead of the goal. By thin 
means he may perhaps plough a straight furrow, but in- 
stead of curving round obstructions, he is very apt to be 
thrown down by them. 

Like most philosophers who entertain a creed opposed 
to that of the illustrious Pangloss, Fydget may be fitly 
designated as the fleshless one. He never knew the joy 
of being fat, and is one of those who may console them- 
selves with the belief that the physical sharpness which 
renders them a walking chevaux de frise, and as danger- 
ous to embrace as a porcupine, is but an outward emblem 
of the acuteness of the mind. Should he be thrust in a 
crowd against a sulky fellow better in flesh than himself, 
who complains of the pointedness of his attentions, Fyd- 
get may reflect that even so do his reasoning faculties 
bore into a subject. When gazing in a mirror, should 
his eye be off'ended by the view of lantern jaws, and 
channelled cheeks, and bones prematurely labouring to 
escape from their cuticular tabernacle, he may easily 
figure to himself the restless energy of his spirit, which 
like a keen blade, weareth away the scabbard — he may 
look upon himself as an intellectual " cut and thrust" — a 
thinking chopper and stabber. But it may be douSted 
whether Fydget ever reverts to considerations so purely 
selfish, except when he finds that the "fine points" of 



I 



FYDGET FYXINGTON. 211 

his figure are decidedly injurious to wearing apparel and 
tear his clothes. 

'^ V V * V '''r 

Winter ruled the hour when Fydget Fyxington was 
last observed to be in circulation — winter, when men 
wear their hands in their pockets and seldom straighten 
their backs — a season however, which, though sharp and 
biting in its temper, has redeeming traits. There is some- 
thing peculiarly exhilarating in the sight of new-fallen 
snow. The storm which brings it is not without a charm. 
The graceful eddying of the drifts sported with by the 
wind, and the silent gliding of the feathery flakes, as one 
by one they settle upon the earth like fairy creatures 
dropping to repose, have a soothing influence not easily 
described, though doubtless felt by all. But when the 
clouds, having performed their office, roll away, and the 
brightness of the morning sun beams upon an expanse 
of sparkling, unsullied whiteness ; when all that is com- 
mon-place, coarse, and unpleasant in aspect, is veiled for 
the time, and made to wear a fresh and dazzling garb, 
new animation is felt by the spirit. The young grow 
riotous with joy, and their merry voices ring like bells 
through the clear and bracing air ; while the remem- 
brance of earlier days gives a youthful impulse to the 
aged heart. 

But to all this there is a sad reverse. The resolution 
of these enchantments into their original elements by 
means of a thaw, is a necessary, but, it must be confessed, 
a very doleful process, fruitful in gloom, rheum, inflam- 
mations, and fevers — a process which gives additional 
pangs to the melancholic, and causes valour's self to 
droop like unstarched muslin. The voices of the boys 
are hushed ; the wliizzing snow-ball astonishes the un- 
suspicious wayfarer no more ; the window glass is per 



212 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

mitted to live its brief day, safe from an untimely frac- 
ture, and the dejected urchin sneaks moodily from school. 
So changed is his nature, that he scarcely bestows a de- 
risive grin upon the forlorn sleigh, which ploughs its 
course through mud and water, although its driver and 
his passengers invite the jeer by making themselves small 
to avoid it, and tempt a joke by oblique glances to see 
whether it is coming. 

Such a time was it when Fydget was extant — a sloppy 
time in January. The city, it is true, was clothed in 
snow ; but it was melancholy snow, rusty and forlorn 
in aspect, and weeping, as if in sorrow that its original 
purity had become soiled, stained, and spotted by contact 
with the world. Its whiteness had in a measure disap 
peared, by the pressure of human footsteps ; wheels and 
runners had almost incorporated it with the common 
earth ; and, where these had failed in effectually doing 
the work, remorseless distributers of ashes, coal dust, 
and potato peelings, had lent their aid to give uniformity 
to the dingy hue. But the snow, " weeping its spirit 
from its eyes," and its body too, was fast escaping from 
these multiplied oppressions and contumelies. Large 
and heavy drops splashed from the eaves ; sluggish streams 
rolled lazily from the alleys, and the gutters and cross- 
ings formed vast shallow lakes, variegated by glaciers 
and ice islands. They who roamed abroad at this un- 
propitious time, could be heard approaching by the damp 
sucking sound which emanated from their boots, as thej'" 
alternately pumped in and pumped out the water in their 
progress, and it was thus that our hero travelled, having 
no caoutchouc health-preservers to shield his pedals from 
unwliolesome contact. 

The shades of evening were beginning to thicken, when 
Fydget stopped shiveringly and looked through the glass 



FYDGET FYXINGTON. 213 

door of a fashionable hotel — the blazing fire and the 
numerous lig^hts, by the force of contrast, made an out- 
side seat still more uncomfortable. 

The gong pealed out that tea was ready, and the 
lodgers rushed from the stoves to comfort themselves 
with that exhilarating flui^. 

'* There they go on first principles," said Fydget Fyx- 
ington with a sigh. 

" Cla' de kitchen da'," said one of those ultra-aristo- 
cratic members of society, a negro waiter, as he bustled 
past the contemplative philosopher and entered the hotel 
.^'* you ought to be gwang home to suppa', ole soul, if 
you got some — yaugh — waugh !" 

*' Suppa', you nigga' 1" contemptuously responded 
Fydget, as the door closed — " I wish I was gwang home 
to suppa', but suppers are a sort of thing I remember a 
good deal oftener than I see. Every thing is wrong — 
such a wandering from first principles ! — there must be 
enoucrh in this world for us all, or we wouldn't be here ; 
but things is fixed so badly that I s'pose some greedy 
rascal gets my share of suppa' and other such elegant 
luxuries. It's just the way of the world ; there's plenty 
of shares of every thing, but somehow or other there are 
folks that lay their fingers on two or three shares, and 
sometimes more, according as they get a chance, and the 
real owners, like me, may go whistle. They've fixed it 
so that if you go back to first principles and try to bone 
what belongs to you, they pack you right oflT to jail, 
'cause you can't prove property. Empty stummicks and 
old clothes ain't good evidence in court. 

*' What the dense is to become of me ! Something 
must — and I wish it would be quick and hurra about it. 
My clothes are getting to be too much of the summer- 
house order for the winter fashions. People will soon 



214 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

see too much of me — not that I care much about looks 
myself, but boys is boys, and all boys is sassy. Since 
the weather's been chilly, when I turn the corner to go 
up town, I feel as if the house had too many windows 
and doors, and I'm almost blow'd out of my coat and 
pants. The fact is, I don't get enough to eat to serve for 
ballast." 

After a melancholy pause, Fydget, seeing the coast 
tolerably clear, walked in to warm himself at the fire 
m the bar-room, near which he stood with great com- 
posure, at the same time emptying several glasses of 
comfortable compounds which had been left partly filled 
by the lodgers when they hurried to their tea. Lighting a 
cigar which he found half smoked upon the ledge of 
the stove, he seated himself and puffed away much at his 
ease. 

The inmates of the hotel began to return to the room, 
glancing suspiciously at Fydget's tattered integuments, 
and drawing their chairs away from him as they sat 
down near the stove. Fydget looked unconscious, emit- 
ting volumes of smoke, and knocking off the ashes with 
a nonchalant and scientific air. 

" Bad weather," said Brown 

*' I've noticed that the weather is frequently bad in 
winter, especially about the middle of it, and at both 
ends," added Green. " I keep a memorandum book on 
the subject, and can't be mistaken." 

" It's raining now," said Griffinhoff — " what's the use 
of that when it's so wet under foot already ?" 

"It very frequently rains at the close of a thaw, 
and it's beneficial to the umbrella makers." responded 
Green. 

*' Nothin's fixed no how," said Fydget with great 
energy, for he was tired of listening. 



FYDGET FYXINGTON. %16 

Brown, Green, Griffinhoff, and the rest started and 
stared. 

" Nothin's fixed no how," continued Fydget rejoicing 
in the fact of having hearers — " our grand-dads must a 
been lazy rascals. Why didn't they roof over the side 
W£^ks, and not leave every thing for us to do? I ain't got 
no numbrell, and besides that, when it comes down as if 
raining was no name for it, as it always does when I'm 
cotch'd out, numbrells is no great shakes if you've got 
one with you, and no shakes at all if it's at home." 

" Who's the indevidjual ?" inquired Cameo Calliper, 
Esq., looking at Fydget through a pair of lorgnettes. 

Fydget returned the glance by making an opera glass 
with each fist, and then continued his remarks : " It's a 
pity we ain't got feathers, so's to grow our own jacket 
and trousers, and do up the tailorin' business, and make 
our own feather beds. It would be a great savin' — every 
man his own clothes, and every man his own featherbed. 
Now I've got a suggestion about that — first principles 
bring us to the skin — fortify that, and the matter's done. 
How would it do to bile a big kittle full of tar, tallow, 
beeswax and injen rubber, with considerable wool, and 
dab the whole family once a week ? The young 'uns 
might be soused in it every Saturday night, and the nig- 
ger might fix the elderly folks with a whitewash brush. 
Then there wouldn't be no bother a washing your clothes 
or yourself, which last is an invention of the doctor to 
make people sick, because it lets in the cold in winter and 
the heat in summer, when natur' says shut up the po- 
rouses and keep 'em out. Besides, when the new inven- 
tion was tore at the knees or wore at the elbows, just tell 
the nigger to put on the kittle and give you a dab, and 
youre patched slick — and so that whole mobs of people 
mightn't stick together like figs, a little sperrits of turpen- 



216 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

line or litharage might be added to make 'em dry like a 
house-a-fire." 

*' If that fellow don't go away, I'll hurt him," said 
Griffinhoff sotto voce. 

" Where's a waiter ?" inquired Cameo Calliper edging 
off in alarm. 

" He's crazy," said Green — '• I was at the hospital 
once, and there was a man in the place who — " 

'* 'Twould be nice for sojers," added Fyxington, as 
he threw away his stump, and very deliberately reached 
over and helped himself to a fresh cigar, from a number 
which Mr. Green had just brought from the bar and held 
in his hand — " I'll trouble you for a little of your fire,"* 
continued he, taking the cigar from the mouth of Mr. 
Green, and after obtaining a light, again placing the 
borrowed Habana within the lips of that worthy indivi- 
dual, who sat stupified at the audacity of the supposed 
maniac. Fydget gave the conventional grin of thanks 
peculiar to such occasions, and with a graceful wave of his 
hand, resumed the thread of his lecture, — ■" 'Twould be 
nice for sojers. Stand 'em all of a row, and whitewash 
'em blue or red, according to pattern, as if they were a 
fence. The gin'rals might look on to see if it was done 
according to Gunter; the cap'ins might flourish the brush, 
and the corpulars carry the bucket. Dandies could fix 
themselves all sorts of streaked and all sorts of colours. 
When the parterials is cheap and the making don't cost 
nothing, that's what I call economy, and coming as 
near as possible to first principles. It's a better way, 
too, of keeping out the rain, than my t'other plan 
of flogging people when they're young, to make their 
hides hard and waterproof. A good licking is a sound 
first principle for juveniles, but they've got a prejudice 
agin it." 



FYDGET FYXINGTON. 217 

«• Waiter T' cried Cameo Calliper. 

" Sa l" 

" Remove the incumbent— expose him to the atmo- 

Bnhere ! 

** If you hadn't said that, Vd wopped him," observed 

Griffinhoff. 

»' Accordin' to first principles, I've as good a right to 
be here as any body," remarked Fydget indignantly. 

*' Cut you' stick, 'cumbent— take you'sef off, trash I" 
said the waiter, keeping at a respectful distance. 

- Don't come near me. Sip," growled Fydget, dou 
bling his fist— "don't come near me, or I'll develope a 
first principle and 'lucidate a simple idea for you— Fll 
give you a touch of natur' without no gloves on— but I'll 
not stay, though I've a clear right to do it, unless you are 
able— yes, sassy able !— to put me out. If there is 
any thing I scorns it's prejudice, and this room's so 
full of it and smoke together that I won't stay. Your 
cigar, sir," added Fydget, tossing the stump to Mr. 
Green and retiring slowly. ^^ 

" That fellow's brazen enough to collect militia fines,' 
said Brown, " and so thin and bony, that if pasted over 
with white paper and rigged athwart ships, he'd make a 
pretty good sign for an oyster cellar." 

The rest of the company laughed nervously, as if not 
perfectly sure that Fydget was out of hearing. 

^ * * * * * 

" The world's full of it— nothin' but prejudice. I'm 
always served the same way, and though I've so much to 
do planning the world's good, I can't attend to my own 
business, it not only won't support me, but it treats me 
with despise and unbecoming freedery. Now, I was used 
sinful about my universal language, which every Dody 
can understand, which makes no noise, and which apn t 



218 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

convolve no wear and tear of the tongue. It's the patent 
anti-fatigue-anti-consiimption omnibus linguister, to be 
done by winking and blinking, and cocking your eye, the 
way the cat-fishes make Fourth of July orations. I was 
going to have it introduced in Congress, to save the ex- 
pense of anchovies and more porter ; but t'other day I 
tried it on a feller in the street; I danced right up to him, 
and began canoeuvering my daylights to ask him what 
o'clock it was, and I'm blow'd if he didn't swear I was 
crazy, up fist and stop debate, by putting it to me right 
atween the eyes, so that I've been pretty well bung'd up 
about the peepers ever since, by a feller too who couldn't 
understand a simple idea. That was worse than the kick 
a feller gave me in market, because 'cording to first princi- 
ples I put a bullowney sassinger into my pocket, and 
didn't pay for it. The 'riginal law, which you may see 
in children, says when you ain't got no money, the next 
best thing is to grab and run. I did grab and run, 
but he grabb'd me, and I had to trot back agin, which 
always hurts my feelin's and stops the march of mind. 
He wouldn't hear me 'lucidate the simple idea, and the 
way he hauled out the sassinger, and lent me the loan 
of his foot, was werry sewere. It was unsatisfactory and 
discombobberative, and made me wish I could find out 
the hurtin' principle and have it 'radicated." 

Carriages were driving up to the door of a house bril 
liantly illuminated, in one of the fashionable streets, and 
the music which pealed from within intimated that the 
merry dance was on foot. 

" I'm goin' in," said Fydget — *' I'm not afeard — if we 
go on first principles we ain't afeard of nothin', and since 
they've monopolized my sheer of fun, they can't do less 
than give me a shinplaster to go away. My jacket's so 
wet vvith the rain, if I don't get dry I'll be sewed up ana 



FYDGET FYXINGTON 219 

hsiYe hie Jacket wrote atop of me, which means defuncted 
of toggery not imprevious to water. In I go.' 

In accordance with this design, he watched his oppor- 
tunity and slipped quietly into the gay mansion. Helping 
himself liberally to refreshments left in the hall, he looked 
in upon the dancers. 

" Who-o-ip !" shouted Fydget Fyxington, forgetting 
himself in the excitement of the scene — " Who-o-ip !" 
added he, as he danced forward with prodigious vigour 
and activity, flourishing the eatables with which his hands 
were crammed, as if they were a pair of cymbals — 
*' Whurro-o-o ! plank it down — that's your sort ! — make 
yourselves merry, gals and boys — it's all accordin' to first 
principles — whoo-o-o-ya — whoop ! — it takes us I" 

Direful was the screaming at this formidable apparition 
—the fiddles ceased — the waltzers dropped their panting 
burdens, and the black band looked pale and aghast. 

" Who-o-o-p ! go ahead ! — come it strong !" continued 
Fydget. 

But he was again doomed to sufler an ejectment. 

"Hustle him out!" 

** Give us a ' shinplaster' then — them's my terms." 

It would not do — he was compelled to retire shinplas- 
terless ; but it rained so heavily that, nothing daunted, he 
marched up the alley-way, re-entered the house through 
the garden, and gliding noiselessly into the cellar, turned 
a large barrel over which he found there, and getting into 
it, went fast asleep " on first principles." 

The company had departed — the servants were as 
sembled in the kitchen preparatory to retiring for the 
night, when an unearthly noise proceeding from the bar- 
rel aforesaid struck upon their astonished ears. It was 
Fydget snoring, and his hearers, screaming, fled. 

Rallying, however, at the top of the stairs, they pro- 



120 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

cured the aid of Mr. Lynx, who watched over the noc 
luriial destmies of an unfinished building in the vicinity, 
and who, having frequently boasted of his valour, felt it 
to be a point of honour to act bravely on this occasion. 
Tlie sounds continued, and the ** investigating commit- 
tee,'* with Mr. Lynx as chairman, advanced slowly and 
with many pauses. 

Lynx at last hurriedly thrust his club into the barrel, 
and started back to wait the result of the experiment. 
" Ouch !" ejaculated a voice from the interior, the word 
being one not to be found in the dictionaries, but which, 
in common parlance, means that a sensation too acute to 
be agreeable has been excited, 

" Hey ! — hello ! — come out of that," said Lynx, as 
soon as his nerves had recovered tranquillity, " You are 
in a bad box whoever you are." 

*' Augh !" was the response, " no, I ain't — I'm in a 
barrel." 

" No matter," added Lynx authoritatively ; " getting 
into another man's barrel unbeknownst to him in the 
night-time, is burglary." 

" That," said Fydget, putting out his head like a ter- 
rapin, at which the women shrieked and retreated, and 
Lvnx made a demonstration with his club — " that's 
because you ain't up to first principles — keep your stick 
out of my ribs — I've a plan so there won't be no bur- 
glary, which is this — no man have no more than he can 
use, and all other men mind their own business. Then, 
this 'ere barrel would be mine while I'm in it, and 5-ou'd 
be asleep — that's the idea." 

" It's a logo-fogie !" exclaimed Lynx with horror— 
" a right down logo-fogie !" 

** Ah I" screamed the servants — *' a logo-fogie ! — ^how 
lid it get out I — will it bite ? — can't you get a gun ?" 



FYDGET FYXINGTON. 221 

•• Don't be fools — a logo-fogie is a sort of a man that 
don't think as I do — wicked critters all such sort of peo- 
ple are," said Lynx. " My lad, I'm pretty clear you're 
a logo-fogie — you talk as if your respect for me and 
other venerable institutions was tantamount to very little. 
You're a leveller I see, and wouldn't mind knocking me 
down flat as a pancake, if so be you could run away and 
get out of this scrape — you're a 'grarium, and would cut 
across the lot like a streak of lightning if you had a 
chance." 

*' Mr. Lynx," said the lady ol the house from the head 
of the stairs, — she had heard from one of the affrighted 
maids that a '* logo-fogie" had been "captivated," and 
that it could talk "just like a human" — "Mr. Lynx, 
don't have any thing to say to him. Take him out, and 
hand him over to the police. I'll see that you are recom- 
pensed for your trouble." 

" Come out, then — you're a bad chap — you wouldn't 
mind votingf against our side at the next election." 

" We don't want elections, I tell you," said Fydgel 
coolly, as he walked up stairs — " I've a plan for doing 
without elections, and police-officers, and laws — every 
man mind his own busmess, and support me while I over- 
see him. I can fix it." 

Having now arrived at the street, Mr. Lynx held him 
by the collar, and looked about for a representative of jus- 
tice to relieve him of his prize. 

" Though I feel as if I was your pa, yet you must be 
tried for snoozling in a barrel. Besides, you've no respect 
for functionaries, and you sort of want to cut a piece out 
of the common veal by your logo-fogieism in wishing to 
'bolish laws, and policers, and watchmen, when my 
brother's one, and helps to govern the nation when the 



223 CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 

President, the Mayor, and the rest of the day-watch has 
turned in, or are at a tea-party. You'll get into prison.** 

** We don't want prisons.*' 

" Yes we do though — what's to become of functiona- 
ries if there ain't any prisons ?" 

This was rather a puzzling question. Fyxington 
paused, and finally said : 

" Why, I've a plan." 

" What is it, then — is it logo-fogie ?'* 

" Yes, it upsets existing institutions," roared Fyxing 
ton, tripping up Mr. Lynx, and making his escape — the 
only one of his plans that ever answered the purpose. 



NEAL'S CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 
BOOK THE SECOISTD. 



**B 00 T S:" 

OR, THE MISFORTUNES OF PETER FABER. 

It was a lovely autumnal morning. The air was fresh, 
with just enough of frost about it to give ruddiness to the 
cheek and brilliancy to the eye. The rays of the sun 
streamed brightly up the street ; knockers, door-plates, and 
bell-handles, beamed with more than usual lustre ; while 
they who had achieved their breakfasts, and had no fear of 
duns, went, according to the bias of their musical fancy, 
either whistling or singing through the town, as if they had 
finally dissolved partnership with care, and had nothing else 
to do for the remainder of their natural lives but to be as 
merry as grigs and as frolicsome as kittens. Every one, even 
to the heavy-footed, displayed elasticity of step and buoy- 
ancy of motion. There were some who seemed to have a 
disposition to dance from place to place, and evidently found 
it difficult to refrain from a pirouette around the corner, or a 
pigeon-wing across the way, in evidence of the lighthearted- 
ness that prevailed within. The atmosphere had a silent 
music in it, more delicious than orchestral strains, and none 
could resist its charm, who were not insensible in mind and 
body to the innocent delight which is thus afforded to the 
healthful spirit. There are mornings in this variable cli- 
mate of ours more exhilarating than the wines of the ban- 



8 neal's sketches. 

quet. There are days which seem to be a fete opened to all 
the world. The festive hall, with its blaze of chandeliers 
and its feverish jollity, has no pleasure in its joys to 
equal nature's holyday, which demands no hollow cheek 
or haggard eye in recompense. Enjoyment here has no 
remorse. 

No wonder, then, that young men slapped their comrades 
on the back with a merry laugh, and dealt in mirthful salu- 
tations. Nor could it cause surprise that old men poked 
their cronies with a stick, and thought that it was funny. 
Ay, there are moments when our frail humanity is forgotten 

— when years and sorrow roll away together — when time 
slackens its iron hold upon us — when pain, tears, disap- 
pointments, and contrition, cease to bear down the spirit, and 
for a little moment grant it leave to sport awhile in pristine 
gleefulness — when, indeed we scarcely recognise our care- 
worn selves, and have, as it were, biief glimpses of a new 
existence. 

Still, however, this is a world of violent contrasts, and of 
painful incongruities. Some of us may laugh ; but while we 
lauffh, let us be assured of it that there are others who arc 
weeping. It is pleasant all about you here, within your 
brief horizon, but the distance may be short to scenes most 
sadly different. Smiles are on your brow, as you jostle 
through the street, yet your elbow touches him whose heart 
is torn with grief. Is there a merry-making in your family 

— are friends in congregation there with mirth, and dance, 
and song ] How strange to think that it is scarce a step to 
the couch of suffering or the chamber of despair. The air 
is tremulous, perchance, with sighs and groans; and though 
our joyous strains overwhelm all sorrow's breathings, yet 
the sorrow still exists even when we hear it not. 

And so it was on this autumnal morning. While the very 
air had delight in it, and while happiness pervaded the at- 
mosphere, there was a little man who felt it not — poor little 
man — poor grim little man — poor queer little man — poor 



BOOTS. 



little man disconsolate. Sadness had engrossed the little 
man. For him, with no sunshine in his heart, all outward 
sunshine was in vain. It had no ray to dispel the thick fogs 
of gloom that clouded round his soul ; and the gamesome 
breezes which fluttered his garments and played around his 
countenance, as if to provoke a smiling recognition, met 
with as little of response as if they had paid courtship to 
the floating iceberg, and they passed quickly by, chilled by 
the hyperborean contact. The mysterious little man — con- 
tradictory in all his aspects to the order of the day — ap- 
peared, as he walked toward the corner of Fifth and Chest- 
nut streets — Justice's peculiar stand, where "Black Marias" 
most do congregate, and where his honor does the honors to 
that portion of society who are so unfortunate and so mala- 
droit as to be caught in their transgressions and to be 
arrested in their sins — he appeared, we say, as he ap- 
proached this awful corner, to be most assuredly under 
duress, as well as an enlistment under general affliction — 
a guard of functionaries — a body-guard, though not of 
honor, seemed to wait upon him — the grim little man and 
the queer little man. There was a hand too — ponderous in 
■weight — austere in knuckle — severe in fist — resting clutch- 
ino-ly upon the collar of the little man, as if to demonstrate 
the fact that he only was the person to be gazed at — the in- 
cident, the feature, the sensation of the time — though the 
little man resisted not. He had yielded to his fate, sulkily, 
it may be, but submissively. Pale was the little man's faco 
— most pale; while his hat was generally crumpled in its 
circumference, and particularly smashed in the details of its 
crown, having the look, abused hat, of being typical of its 
owner's fortunes — an emblem, as it were, of the ups and 
the downs, the stumbling-places and the pitfalls wherewith 
its owner's way through life is diversified. He had a coat, 
too — though this simple fact can not be alluded to as dis- 
tinctly characteristic — most men wear coats whose aspira- 
tions 2:0 bevond the roundings of a iacket. But our little 



10 NEAL S SKETCIILS. 

man's coat was peculiar — "itself alone," speaking of it 
merely as a coat. There were two propositions — either 
the coat did not belong to him, or else he did not belong to 
the coat — one of these must have been true, if it were 
proper to form an opinion upon the usual evidences which 
go to settle our impression as to che matter of proprietor- 
ship in coats. The fitness of things is the great constituent 
of harmony in coats, as in all other matters; but here was a 
palpable violation of the fitness of things, a coat being a 
thing that ought always to fit, or to come as near to that con- 
dition as the skill of the tailor, or the configuration of the 
man, will allow. It may possibly be that mischance had 
shrunk the individual's fair proportions, and had thus left 
his garments in the lurch — the whole arrangement being 
that of a very small kernel in an uncommonly-extensive 
shell. It may be mentioned also, in the way of illus- 
tration, that the buttons behind were far below their just 
and proper location — that its tails trailed on the ground; 
while in front the coat was buttoned almost around its 
wearer's knees — not so stringently, however, as to im- 
pede progression, for its ample circumference allowed suffi- 
cient play to his limbs. Thus the little man was not only 
grim, and queer, and sorrowful, but was also picturesque and 
original. There was at least nothing like him to be seen 
that day, or any other day; and, as he walked, marvellous 
people held up their hands and wondered — curious people 
rubbed their eyes and stared — sagacious people shook their 
wise heads in disapproval ; and dubious people, when they 
heard of it, were inclined to the opinion that it must be a 
mistake altogether, and " a no such thing." A boy admi- 
ringly observed, that it was his impression that ** there was 
a good deal of coat with a very small allowance of man," 
like his grandmother's pies, which, according to his report, 
were more abundantly endowed with crust than gifted with 
apples ; as if the merit of a pie did not consist mainly in its 
enclosures. To confess the ti-uth, it might as well be can- 



"BOOTS." 11 

didly granted at once, that but for the impediment of having 
his arms in the sleeves, the little man might have turned 
round in his coat, vi^ithout putting his coat to the inconveni- 
ence of turning round with him. 

The case — we do not mean the coat, but the case, in gen- 
eral and inclusive — offered another striking peculiarity. In 
addition to the somewhat dilapidated pair which already 
adorned his pedal extremities, the little man, or Mr. Peter 
Faber — for such was the appellation in which this little 
man rejoiced, when he did happen to rejoice — for no one 
ever was lucky enough to catch him at it — Mr. Peter Faber 
carried another pair of boots ahmg with him — one in each 
hand — as if he had used precaution against being sent on a 
bootless errand, and took the field like artillery, supplied 
with extra wheels. But it was not that Mr. Peter Faber had 
feloniously appropriated these boots, as ill-advised persons 
might be induced to suppose. But each man has his idio- 
syncrasy — his peculiarities — some trait which, by imper- 
ceptible advances, results at last in being the master-passion, 
consuming all the rest; and boots — an almost insane love 
of boots — stood in this important relation to Mr. Peter Fa- 
ber. In happier days, when the sun of prosperity beamed 
brightly on him, full of warmth and cheeriness, Peter Faber 
had a whole closet full of boots, and a top-shelf full of 
blacking — in boxes and in bottles — solid blacking, and 
that which is diluted ; and Peter Faber's leisure hours 
were passed in polishing these boots, in admiring these 
boots, and in trying on these boots. Peter knew, sadly 
enough, that he could not be regarded as a handsome man 
— that neither his face nor his form was calculated to 
attract attention as he passed along ; but his foot was unde- 
niably neat — both his feet were — and his affection for him- 
self came to a concentration at that point. 

Some men there are who value themselves upon one 
quality — others may be discovered who flatter themselves 
on the possession of another quality — each of us is a sort 



12 neal's sketches. 

of heathen temple, with its peculiar idol for our secret wor- 
ship. There are those who pay adoration to their hair. 
Whiskers, too, have votaries. People are to be met with 
who attitudinize with their fingers, from a belief that these 
manual appendages are worthy to be admired, because they 
are white, or chance to be of diminutive order. Many eyes 
have double duty to perform, that we may be induced to mark 
their languishing softness or to note their sparkling brilliancy. 
To smile is often a laborious occupation to those who fancy 
they are displayed to advantage in that species of physiog- 
nomical exercise ; and there are persons of the tragic style, 
who practise frowning severity in the mirrors, that they may 
" look awfully" at times. Softnesses of this kind are in- 
numerable, rendering us the most ridiculous when most we 
wish to please. The strongest have such folly ; and the 
weak point in Peter Faber's character lay in his foot. Men 
there are who will make puns, and are yet permitted to live. 
Peter Faber cherished boots, and became the persecuted of 
society ! Justice is blind. 

On the previous night, in the very hours of quietness and 
repose, there came a strange noise of rattling and bumping 
at the front door of the respectable house of the respectable 
family of the Sniggses — people by no means disposed to tur- 
bulence themselves, or inclined to tolerate turbulence in oth- 
ers. It so happened, indeed, on this memorable occasion, 
that Sniggs himself was absent from the city; and the rest 
of the family were nervous after dark, because his valor had 
temporarily been withdrawn from their protection. Still, 
however, the fearful din continued, to the complete and ter- 
rified awakening of the innocent Sniggses from tlio refresh- 
ment of balmy slumber. And such a turmoil — such hurrying 
to and fro, under the appalling influence of nocturnal alarm. 
Betsy, the maid-of-all-work, crept in terror to the chamber 
of the maternal Mrs. Sniggs. Betsy first heard the noise 
and thought it "washing-day;" but discovering her mistake, 
Betsy aroused the matron with the somewhat indefinite news, 



"BOOTS." 13 

though rather fearful announcement, that *' they are breaking 
in!" — the intelligence, perhaps, being the more horrible be- 
cause of its vagueness, it being left to the excited imagination 
to detej-mine who "they" were. Then came little Tommy 
Sniggs, shivering with cold and fear, while he looked like a 
sheeted ghost in the whiteness of his nocturnal habiliments. 
Tommy and Betsy crawled under the bed, that they might 
lie hid in safety. Nor were Mary, and Sally, and Prudence, 
and Patience, slow in their approach ; and they distributed 
themselves within the bed and beneath, as terror chanced to 
suggest. Never before had the Sniggs family been stowed 
away with such compactness — never before had there been 
such trembling and shaking within the precincts of that staid 
and sober mansion. 

" There it goes again !" shivered Mrs. Sniggs, from beneath 
the blankets 

** They're most through the door !" quivered Betsy, under 
the bed. 

♦* They'll take all our money!" whimpered Prudence. 

"And all our lives, too !" groaned Patience. 

"And the spoons besides !" shrieked Mary, who was act- 
in «• in the capacity of housekeeper for that particular week. 

"Pa!" screamed Tommy, under the usual impression of 
the juveniles, that, as " pa" corrects them, he is fully compe- 
tent to the correction of all the other evils that present them- 
selves under the sun. 

"Ma !" ejaculated the others, seeking rather for comfort 
and consolation, than for fiercer methods of relief. But nei- 
ther "pa" nor " ma" seemed to have an exorcising effect upon 
the mysterious bumpings, and hangings, and pantings, and 
ejaculations, at the front door. 

In the process of time, however, becoming a little famil- 
iarized to the disturbance, Mrs. Sniggs slowly raised the 
window, and put forth her nightcapped head, it having been 
suggested that by possibility it might be a noise emanating 
from Mr. Sniggs, or "pa" himself, returning unexpectedly. 



14 neal's sketches. 

" Who's there V said Mrs. Sniggs. 

'•Boots!" was the sepulchral reply. 

"Is it you, dear — you, Sniggs V 

** If you mean *me' by saying 'you,' it is me — but I'm not 
'dear' — boots is 'dear' — Sniggs, did you say 1 Who's 
Sniggs] If he is an able-bodied man, send him down here 
to bear a hand, will you 1" and another crash renewed the 
terrors of the second story, which sought vent in such loud 
and repeated shrieks, that even the watchman himself was 
awakened, and judiciously halting at the distance of half a 
square, he made his reconnaisance with true military cau- 
tion, concluding with an inquiry as to what was the matter, 
that he might know exactly how to regulate his approaches 
to the seat of war. An idea had entered his mind, that per- 
haps a ghost was at the bottom of all this uproar; and though 
perhaps as little afraid of mere flesh and blood as most peo- 
ple of his vocation, he had no fondness for taking spectres by 
the collar, or for springing his rattle at the heels of a goblin, 
holding it — the principle, and not the ghost — as a maxim 
that, if such folks pay no taxes and are not allowed to vote, they 
are not entitled to the luxury of an arrest, for the ordinances 
of the city do not apply to them. 

" Even if it is not a ghost nor a sperrit — and I'm not very 
fond of any sort of sperrits but them that comes in bottles," 
said he, having now approached near enough to hear the 
knocking, and to see a dark object in motion at the top of 
Mr. Sniggs's steps — "perhaps it's something out of the 
menagerie or the museum — something that bites or some- 
thing that hooks ; and I can not aff'ord to have my precious 
corporation used for the benefit of the city's corporation. 
The wages is too small for a man to have himself killed into 
the bargain." 

"But mavbe it's a bird!" continued he, as he cauo^ht 
a glimpse of Peter's coat-tail fluttering in the wind — 
''* sho-o-o-o !" 

But no regard being paid to the cry, which settled the 




"boots!" was the sepulchral reply. — Book II, page 14. 



" BOOTS." 15 

point that there was no bird in the case — " sho-o-o!" being 
a part of bird language, and only comprehensible by the 
feathered race — the watchman slowly advanced, until he 
saw that the mysterious being was a man — a little man — ap- 
parently levelling a blunderbuss and pulling at the trigger. 

"Who said shoe, when it's booti" inquired the unknown 
figure, still seemingly with a gun at its shoulder, and turning 
round so that the muzzle appeared to point dangerously at 
the intruder. 

"Hallo! don't shoot! maybe it will go off!" cried the 
watch, as he ducked and dived to confuse the aim and to avoid 
the anticipated bullet. 

" Don't shute ! I know it don't shute — that's what I want 
it to do — I'm trying to make it shute with all my ten fingers," 
was the panting reply, as the apparently threatening muzzle 
was lowered for an instant and raised again — " and as for its 
going off, that's easy done. What I want, is to make it 
go on." 

Luckily for Charley's comfort, he now discovered that the 
supposed blunderbuss was Peter Faber's leg; and that the 
little man had it levelled like a gun, in the vain attempt to 
pull a Wellington boot over that which already encased hia 
foot. He sighed and tugged, and sighed and tugged again. 
The effort was bootless. He could not, to use his own words, 
make it " shute." The first pair, which already occupied the 
premises, would not be prevailed upon to admit of interlo- 
pers, and Peter's pulling and hauling were in vain. 

It was the banging of Peter's back against the frunt door 
of Mrs. Sniggs's mansion that had so alarmed the family ; 
and now as he talked, he hopped across the pavement, still 
tugging at the boot, and took his place upon the fire-plug. 

" Pshaw! — baint it hot !" said Peter. " Drat these boots ! 
they've been eating green presimmings. I guess their 
mouths are all drawed up, just as if they wanted to whistle 
*Hail Kerlumby.' They did fit like nothing when I tried 
'em on this raoj'ning; but now I might as well pull at the 



16 neal's sketches. 

door-handle and try to poke my foot through the keyhole 
My feet couldn't have growed so much in a single night, or 
else my stockings would have been tore; and I'm sure these 
are my own legs and nobody else's, because they are as short 
as ever and as bandy. Besides, I know it's me by the patches 
on my knees. That's the way I always tell." 

"Are you quite sure," inquired the watch, ''that you didn't 
get swopped as you came up the street 1 You've got boot, 
somehow or other. But come, now," added he authorita- 
tively, and putting on the dignity that belongs to his station, 
" quit being redickalis, and tell us what's the meaning of sich 
goin's on in a white man, who ought to be a credit to his 
fetching up. If you're a gentleman's son, always be genteel, 
and never cut up shindies, or indulge in didoes. Wha-t are 
you doing with them 'are boots 1 That's the question, Mr. 
Speaker." 

" Doing with my boots 1 What could I do without my 
boots, w^atchy V added Peter, in tones of the deepest solem- 
nity, as he laid his boots upon his lap and smoothed them 
down with every token of affection. ** Watch }'-, though you 
are a watchy, you've got a heart with the sensibilities in it 
— nothing of the brickbat about you, is there, watchy? If 
you are ugly to look at, it's not your fault, and it's not your 
fault that you're a watchy. I can see with half an eye that 
you're a man with feelings ; and you know as well as I do 
that we must have something to love in this world — you 
love your rattle — I love my boots — better nor they love me, 
I'm afraid," and Peter grew plaintive. 

The wavchman, however, shook his head with an expres- 
eion of " duberousness," which, like the celebrated nod of 
Lord Burleigh, seemed to signify a great deal relative to the 
thoughts existing within the head that was thus shaken. It 
vibrated, as it were, between opinions, oscillating to the right, 
under the idea that Peter Faber was insane from moral 
causes, and pendulating to the left with the impression that 



"BOOTS." 17 

he was queer, perchance, from causes which come upon the 
table of liquid measure. 

Peter's thoughts, however, were too intent upon the work 
he had in hand and desired to get on foot, to pay attention 
to any other insinuation than that of trying to insinuate his 
toes into the calfskin. Sarcastic glances and nods of distrust 
were thrown away upon him. He asked, no other solace 
than that of bringing his sole in contact with the sole of his 
new boot. On this his soul was intent. 

** It's not a very genteel expression, 1 know," said the noc- 
turnal guardian, " and it may seem to be rather a personal 
insinivation, though I only ask it in a professional way, and 
not because I want to know as a private citizen — no, it's in 
my public campacity, that I think you've been drinking — I 
think so as a watchman, not as David Dumpy. Isn't you a 
a leetle corned ]" 

*' Corned ! No — look at my foot — nor bunioned either," 
replied Peter, as he commenced another series of tugging at 
the straps ; and with a look of suspicion, he added : " That 
'tarnal bootman must have changed 'em. He's guv me 
some baby's boots. But never mind — boots was made to 
go on, and go on they must, if I break my back a driving 
into 'em. Hurra!" shrieked our hero, "bring on your wild 
cats!" 

With this exclamation — which amounts with those who 
use it, to a determination to do or die — Peter screwed up 
his visage and his courage to what may be truly denominated 
" the teriibleyee^," and put forth his whole strength. Every 
nerve was strained to its utmost tension ; the tug was tre- 
mendous ; but alas ! Cesar was punctured as full of holes as 
a cullender, by those whom he regarded as his best friends ; 
many others have been stuck in a vital part by those who 
were their intimate cronies ; and how could Peter Faber 
hope to escape the treachery by which all great men are be- 
girt ] When exerting the utmost of his physical strength, 
the traitorous straps gave way. Two simultaneous cracks 

2 



18 neal's sketches. 

were heard ; a pair of heels, describing a short curve, flashed 
through the air, and Peter, with the rap'idity of lightnings 
turned a series of backward somersets from the fire-plug, and 
went whizzing like a wheel across the street. Now the half- 
donned boot appeared uppermost, and again his head fol- 
lowed his heels, as if for very rage he was trying to bite the 
hinder part of his shins, or sought to hide his mortification at 
his failure, not only by swallowing his boots, but likewise by 
gobbling up his whole body. 

"Why, bless us, Boots !" said the Charley, following him 
like a boy beating a hoop, ** this is what I call rewarsing the 
order of natur. You travel backerds, and you stop on your 
noddle. I thought you was trying to go clean through the 
mud into the middle of next week. An't you most knocked 
into a cocked hat ?" 

" Cocked fiddlesticks !" muttered Peter. ** Turn us right 
side up, with care. That's right — cocked hat, indeed ! when 
you can see with half an eye, if you've got as much, it's my 
boots vot vont go on. A steam-engine — forty horse power — 
couldn't pull 'em on, if your foot was a thimble and your 
legs a knitting-needle. Don't you see it was the straps as 
broke 1 Not a good watchy !" continued Peter, as he dashed 
the boots on the pavement, and made a vain attempt to dance 
on them, and " tread on haughty Spain." 

" Well, now, I think I am a good watchy ; for I've been 
watching you and your boots for some time." 

** What's a man, if he a'n't got handsome boots; and what's 
the use of handsome boots, if he a'n't got *em on 1 As the 
English gineral said, what's beauty without bootee, and what's 
bootee without beauty 1 Look at them 'are articles — fust I 
bought 'em, and then I black'd 'em, and now they turn agin 
me, and bite their best friend, like a wiper. Don't they look 
as if they ought to be ashamed 1" 

" Yes, I rather think they do look mean enough." 

** Who cares what you think 1 Have you got a bootjack j 



"BOOTS.'* 19 

in your pocket? — no, not a bootjack — I want a pair of them 
'are hook-em-sniveys, vot they uses in the shops. I don't 
want a pull-offer; I want a pair of pull-oners." 

** If you will walk with me, I'll find you a pair of hook- 
em-sniveys in less than no time." 

If you will, I'll go ; because I must get my boots on 
somehow, and hook-em-sniveys will do it if anything will. 
There's no fun in boots what won't go on ; you can't make 
anything of 'em except old clothes-bags and letter-boxes, and 
I a'n't got much use for articles of the sort — seeing as how 
clothes and letters are scarce with me." 

** Can't you use them for book-keeping by doui.3e-entry ] 
That's the way I do. I put all my cash into one old 
boot, and all my receipts into the other. That's scien- 
tific double-entry simplified — old slippers is the Italian 
method." 

** No, I can't. I does business on the fork-out system. I 
don't save up, only for boots ; and as soon as I gets any money, 
I speculates right off in something to eat, and lives upon the 
principal." 

Peter gathered up his boots, and half reclining upon the 
watchman, wended his way to the common receptacle, where, 
after discovering the trick played upon him, and finding that 
the ** hook-em-sniveys" were not forthcoming, he shared his 
wrath between the boots which had originally betrayed him, 
and the individual who had consequently betrayed him. At 
length, 

" Sweet sleep, the wounded bosom healing," 

restored Peter to himself and that just estimate of the fitness 
of things, which teaches that it is not easy — even for a man 
who is as sober as a powder-horn — to pull a pair of long 
boots over another pair, particularly if the latter happen to 
be wet and muddy. Convinced of this important truth, 
Peter put his boots under his arm, and departed to get the 



20 nkal's sketches. 

straps repalrea, and try the efficacy of "hook-em-sniveys'* 
where the law could not interfere. 

And such was the close of this remarkable episode in the 
life of the grim little man and the queer little man, whoso 
monomania had boots for its object. 



THE MAN THAT DANCED THE POLKA. 21 



THE MAN THAT DANCED THE POLKA 

OE, THE OAK AND THE VIOLET. 

He danced the polka ! 

And here, if we were addicted to epigrammatic brevity, 
our narrative might close, with the short and simple enunci- 
ation of a fact which involves the moral of Lankley Towers 
— all, perhaps, that entitles him to special attention as a 
subject of biography. 

He danced the polka ! / 

We like this condensation, winding up the virtues of a 
man. Napoleon-like, into that compactness of parcel which 
seems to contain much more than volumes. There is a clas- 
sic nudity about it, scorning the tinsel of pretence ; and 
whether inscribed upon the rolls of fame, or carved upon a 
tombstone, what could be more likely to arrest attention or 
to be long remembered, than — 

He danced THE POLKA ! ! ! 

The effect is obvious. As the ages pass along, there 
would be pausing on the march, and pondering by the way. 
Successive centuries must stop — here, over Lankley's "sad 
remainders" — to wonder at the epitaph. Why was it that 
he danced the polka? — how was it that he danced the 
polka 1 — what is the polka, and who was Lankley] Our 
era would gain an immortality. 

Antiquarian research might show that many danced the 
polka, at the period referred to ; and that an ability to per- 
form the feat was a passport through the world of social life ; 
but nicer observation might detect, that while the many 
danced the polka, in the thoughtlessness of mere muscular 

agitation, wiggling hither aud wagglino; thither, without ulte- 
16 



22 neal's sketches. 

nor design, and reversing lieel and toe, as Korponay pre- 
scribes, with no originality of mind, Lankley Towers availed 
himself of the polka as an aid to enterprise. To hrm, the 
polka was a stratagem — a conspiracy — a coujp d'etat. His 
polka had a purpose. 

Some men succeed by plodding industry — there are oth- 
ers who make their way, through force of intellect — the 
whisker and mustache have ofl worked wonders ; but it was 
left for Lankley Towers to accomplish all he wished by " a 
wise and masterly" recourse to the polka. He neither 
crawled, nor crept, nor rushed, up to the heights of fortune. 
He danced up, to tunes of Strauss and Jullien, as the army 
of Italy was animated to the crossing of the Alps by the 
inspiring strains of the Marseillaise. 

Not that there was any peculiar physical adaptation in 
Lankley Towers, leading to brilliant achievements as a 
carpet knight. Though a gentleman, in the most extended 
sense of the term — longitudinally, few could measure more 
in feet and inches — yet he had little pretension to beauty in 
other respects. He was a man, no doubt, of elevated views, 
capable of lighting his cigar at the street lamp, and of look- 
ing into the windows of the second story. No inquiries 
could be requisite on any occasion, to ascertain if Mr. Lank- 
ley Towers were present ; and, in a crowd, he, better than 
other people, might discover exactly what was the matter. 
Others may brag of a long line of ancestors — Lankley could 
boast of being a long line in himself. But he discovered at 
last, when the cash his father bequeathed to him had melted 
from his grasp — how incidents of that sort sharpen the phi- 
losophy — that a man requires some degree of latitude to 
live, however upright may be his intentions, and however 
erect his bearing:. And so — 

He danced the polka. 



** Lankley Towers," observed his uncle Tobias, when 
Lankley was in process of paying a domiciliary visit to the 



THE MAN THAT DANCED THE POLKA. 23 

uncle aforesaid, in tlie vain hope of raising the wind — his 
ancle, on this fiscal occasion, like a prudent man, as he was, 
volunteering a monitory check, in the way of advice, instead 
of a monetary check, in the way of the bank, as Lankley 
desired — "Lankley Towers, I can not afford to keep you 
m wind any longer — you are too long in this respect 
already, and I am getting short. I'm nearly blown myself, 
by this tightness in the money-market, which has given 
me a sympathetic constriction in the region of the chest. 
Financially speaking, I've got the asthma." 

" But, uncle, I want some cash so bad." 

** To be sure — to want money is always bad ; and that is 
one of the reasons why I won't lend. If you didn't want it 
so bad, there might be some chance of getting it back. But 
when people want money bad, as you call it, the whole affair 
becomes bad. Why don't you do something for yourself?'* 

" What shall I do 1" asked Lankley, mournfully. ** I've 
borrowed from everybody, and don't know how to do any- 
thing else." 

" Can't you get a situation as a lighthouse 1 They might 
whitewash you up, and hang a lamp on your hat — or there's 
Mr. Morse and his magnetic telegraph — how would you 
like to be one of the posts, with a wire to your head V 

"Uncle," replied Lankley, in accents of reproach, "don't 
talk ironically about wires to a fellow's head ; and never 
speak disrespectfully of nature's doings, in regard to the 
article of legs. If you won't lend me any money, pray have 
respect for my feelings. I'm sensitive about the legs, espe- 
cially when my pockets are empty. I never twitted you, 
uncle, because your legs are mere abridgments of works 
upon the understanding." 

" Well, well ; I only desired that you should make your- 
self useful in one way or in another; and such legs as yours 
are as good a method of getting along, as any I could think 
of If you were to lie down they would make a tolerable 
railroad. Always trust to your legs, Lankley, since you 



24 neal's sketches. 

have been so extensively favored in this respect. It is more 
than probable your genius lies in that extraordinary locomo- 
tive apparatus — you may as well trust to your legs now— 
there's no money hereabouts — nothing over to-day, unless it 
be done over." 

"Trust to my legs!" repeated Lankley, as he walked 
away at the utmost compass of his stride, so that people 
looked after him in admiration, as if the "shears" from the 
navy-yard, or the machinery for raising blocks at the Girard 
college, had wandered forth to take a walk ; *' trust to my 
legs ! — many a true word may be spoken in jest — but how 
to render my legs available 1 Creditors are troublesome ; 
and there is Texas ; but Texas is annexed. Oregon ! — 
bother enough there about parallels, without me and my 
legs. And besides, what's the use of changing the scene, 
when the performance will be all the same 1 If I can't bor- 
row here, how can I borrow anywhere else V 

" Legs !" and Lankley Towers stood still in silent medita- 
tion. 

In these times of excitement, the very children returning 
from school will dance the polka — with arms a-kimbo, and 
with vibrating heads, they skip along the street, singing, 
*• la, la, riddle, tiddle, right turn., looral — right turn, dight 
turn, tooral, looral^^ and looking coquettishly, first over one 
shoulder and then over tne other, as they twist themselves 
into every variety of grotesque form. The polka is every- 
where ; in highways and in byways ; and no wonder that it 
jostled Lankley Towers, in the midst of his disconsolate re- 
flections. Lankley Towers had himself — and who had not] 
— shared in the general enthusiasm ; and knew somewhat 
of the mystic dance of the nineteenth century. The instinct 
of discipline prevailed involuntarily. 

"Right dum, dight tum — tooral, looral," sang Lankley 
Towers, casting himself rapidly into a series of attitudes. 
The people laughed, and the little dogs barked. 

But with Lankley it was a moment of inspiration. The 



THE MAN THAT DANCED THE POLKA. 25 

flint and steel, dissevered, each lie in icy coldness. No 
flash of fire appears ; and thus may our genias slumber, liko 
the flint or like the steel, until some happy contact wakes 
the sheeted flame. A falling pippin — or was it the dandy- 
gray-russet] — hit Newton on the head, and aroused him to 
a knowledge of nature's choicest secrets — a knock, we doubt 
not, that led to the after scourging of the schools, that slug- 
gish intellect might be similarly enlivened. Why not throw 
apples now at pupils' heads '? — for just such an apple to the 
head of Lankley Towers, was the accidental polka of the 
street striking upon his uncle's parting words — ** Trust to 
your legs." 

** I will," said Lankley; and, with a firm resolve, he 
hastened home, to dress for a polka party, at Muscovado's. 

It was a brilliant scene — beauty was there — whisker, im- 
perial, mustache, goatee — all thronged at Muscovado's. But 
Lankley heeded not — looming over all, his eyes were ever 
downward bent — for Celestina Muscovado — the heiress to 
more thousands than our arithmetic dare calculate — was the 
antipodes of Lankley — a condensation of all excellence; 
and it was she that Lankley sought. 

Relatively, Celestina Muscovado was like the church, 
while Lankley spired and steepled at her side — one might 
almost hear the bells a ringing in his head ; and as you 
travelled by, it was no more than natural to give an upward 
glance, to see the clock and learn the time of day. When 
"timorous accent and dire yell," proclaimed a conflagration, 
it was common to call up to Lankley to ask in what direc- 
tion lay the fire. But Miss Celestina Muscovado, though a 
person of considerable weight in the world, took a different 
direction, preferring breadth to altitude ; and she became 
the beau ideal of the "roly-poly" style of feminine loveli- 
ness. No wonder, then, she looked with favor upon Lank- 
ley Towers — no wonder, then, he took the hint. 



" There is no grace or beauty," whispered he, ** in these 



26 neal's sketches. 

Patagonian girls — grenadiers — fit only to reach things from 
a top-shelf." 

•' Why, yes, Mr. Towers," blushingly said Miss Celestina 
Muscovado, " a lady may be too tall." 

"A great deal too tall, Miss Muscovado — horrid tall, too 
many of them. I never could admire this v^ire-drawn atten- 
uation in a woman. Give me the stature of a sylph — a 
fairy — rounded into grace and comfort — divinely human — 
humanly divine." 

" Certainly," simpered Celestina Muscovado ; ** a lady may 
be too meager, as well as too tall." 

** Both are common faults ; and with my susceptibility to 
the truly beautiful — ah. Miss Muscovado, my susceptibility 
— my capacity to love and to admire — is intense — it's aw- 
ful — xvith my susceptibility, then, I seldom go out into the 
■world — it shocks me so — I am happy only at friend Musco- 
vado's. Here only is my soul content." 

"Fie, Mr. Lankley Towers! A'n't you 'shamed]" and 
Miss Celestina Muscovado tapped him with her fan. 

Lankley had touched the proper chord. The response 
was as he wished ; and, like the celebrated Mr. Brown, it 
was not in his nature to " give it up so." He proceeded 
upon the Brunonian theory of perseverance ; and displayed 
his knowledge of human nature by proving a practical ac- 
quaintance with the fact that, next to ourselves, we admire 
and love the opposite to ourselves. 

" Such pigmy little fellows !" murmured Towers, in dis- 
dain, drawing up to such a height that Miss Celestina Mus- 
covado could scarcely see his countenance. " Most men are 
so diminutive now-a-days — nothing heroic or magnificent 
about them. If there's anything I do despise, it is these 
little men." 

** They ought always to be tall — I doat on a tall gentle- 
man," said Miss Muscovado, impulsively, but checking her- 
self with bewitching confusion. 

"Such a lovely contrast it makes, Miss Muscovado — tho 



THE MAN THAT DANCED THE POLKA. S7 

lordly and majestic oak — man — reaching almost to the 
ekies ; and the modest violet — woman — finding peace, hap- 
piness, and joy, beneath his shelter and protection. But 
now, v/oman is the oak ; and man is a saucy little 'johnny 
jump-up' at her feet. There is a very small quantity of the 
true poetics to be met with in these degenerate days, Miss 
Muscovado :" and Lankley looked down, as it were, from 
the garret-window of his elevation, upon Miss Muscovado 
in the " airey." 

*'0h, Mr. Towers!" 

"Ah, Miss Celestina!" 

What a moment — no "tirkle" doves were ever happier. 
Let us not interrupt a silence so eloquent. 

"Just observe, Miss Muscovado," at length whispered 
Lankley, recovering from the abstraction, with a sigh of 
tenderness ; " look at those little men and monstrous women 
dancing in the polka. Where, where, 1 ask you, in this gay 
assemblage, do we behold a picture of what should be? — 
where is the oak, and where the violet V 

" Not there — not there !" and Miss Celestina Muscovado 
buried the light of her countenance in the most gossamer of 
all pocket-handkerchiefs. 

Lankley Towers felt convinced that his genius had been 
developed, and that it must prevail. 



The oak and the violet were seen dancing together at in- 
tervals throughout the evening ; and when they were not 
dancing, they retired into the recesses of a window, engaged 
in earnest discoursings, which it is not for us to betray to 
the gossiping ear of the public. Their conduct, however, did 
not escape from observation, for Miss Celestina Muscovado 
was an envied prize. 

" I say, Ned, do you see," remarked a very little dandy, 
with more of whisker to his countenance than his physical 
frame appeared calculated to sustain — " do you see how that 
lightning-rod fellow, Lankley Towers, is flirting with Celes- 



28 neal's sketches. 

tina? — 'bominable, isn't it 1 — such an ugly rascal, too — she 
won't listen to me at all. What taste ! — I'll try a little more 
chicken salad." 

** When I asked her to dance, she said she was engaged — 
engaged every set. I've half a mind to affront him ; and 1 
will, after I have some terrapin — there's terrapin, I hope — 
and a glass or two of champagne," observed Ned. 

** Lankley Towers is after the spoons," gi'owled another 
of the great rebuffed, who being after the "spoons" himself, 
was, therefore, a good judge of motive in the case; " and if 
there's any whiskey-punch — punch sooths one's feelings so 
— I'll go and tell old Muscovado that fortune-hunters are 
about." 

" He knows that already," muttered somebody else, who 
had been rejected on the same score by the Muscovado fam- 
ily ; and he consoled himself with a little brandy and water, 
as the best tonic in his peculiar emergency. ** What will you 
get by telling"? Better make a bargain with Lankley Tow- 
ers, and help him ofFvdth Celestina, for a per-centage on the 
profits of the speculation." 

Thus all was excitement at Muscovado's polka party. 
Everybody about the room was talking of Lankley Towers's 
unblushing impudence in thus openly aspiring to the hand 
of Miss Celestina Muscovado; and when they danced, every- 
body scrambled to witness the performance and to sneer at 
the happy man. The little dandy, in his ocean of whisker, 
stood in gloom, with folded arras, having a sensation which 
is peculiar in such cases, and is known in surgery as the dis- 
location of the nose. Ned actually jumped upon a waiter to 
obtain a better view of that which wrung his heart ; while 
old Muscovado shook his head in vain. The oak and the 
violet had a harmony that nothing could derange. The sneers 
of the gentlemen at Lankley Towers, and the tittering of the 
'adies at Celestina Muscovado, fell harmlessly around that 
happy pair. 



THE MAN THAT DANCED THE POLKA. 29 

"Tell Celestina — Miss Muscovado" — for the old gentle- 
man piqued himself upon preserving the dignities and pro- 
prieties before the servants — we should like to see you slap 
him on the back and call him **Bob," as you do some people 
— "tell my daughter that breakfast waits," said paternity, 
as it sat revolving the costs and meditating on the annoyances 
of the preceding night. 

But Miss Muscovado, as Miss Muscovado, was no longer 
in existence. Instead of retiring to her chamber at the con- 
clusion of the polka party, she had merely stolen up stairs for 
an apparel suitable to the occasion, and had escaped to some- 
body else's cab, where our tall friend awaited her arrival ; 
and in a very brief space of time she had been metamor- 
phosed into Mrs. Lankley Towers, thus realizing the allegory 
of the oak and the violet. Muscovado, notwithstanding the 
sweetness of his name, became greatly acidulated — sharp to 
a degree — he jumped about the room and dashed his wig 
into the fire — he whirled a teapot through the looking-glass. 
He swore he never could, and never would, and never should, 
forgive his short daughter with that endless husband ; but, 
alas, he had no daughter but Mrs. Lankley Towers, and who 
else could supervise the house ] 

Before many months had elapsed, old Muscovado, at his 
own fireside, was stumbling over a pair of illimitable legs, 
which had gained fame and fortune for their owner, and had 
enabled him to "marry in" and "hang up his hat" in the 
quietude of domestic felicity. Not a care wrinkled the happy 
front of the fortunate possessor of these far-reaching limbs. 
They were needed no longer — if they could be longer — to 
carry him about to borrow from his friends ; for Muscovado 
footed all the bills, and the proprietor thereof took upon him- 
self no heed either of to-day or to-morrow. Who was this 
lucky one, do you ask? — why, who but he that took, his 
uncle's advice and "trusted to his legs'?" — who could it 
be but — 

THE MAN THAT DANCED THE POLKA 1 



80 neal's skktckks. 



PERRY WINKLE: 

OK, "JUST WHAT I EXPECTED." 

Mr. Perry "Winkle has one advantage — though it is 
rather of a melancholy description — over the rest of the 
world ; and his superiority in this respect, as there are but 
few^ who can claim to be largely distinguished from the mass 
of men by a feature which may be called decidedly their own, 
entitles him to be looked upon as a hero, and to have things 
WTitten about him. Perry Winkle does not follow in the 
beaten track, like a horse in a mill. He has an idea or two 
completely to himself; and he diverges from the macadamized 
ways of other people, to make a detour through the grass. 
This singularity, even if it be presumed that, with the un- 
consciousness which is an attribute to genius, he is not aware 
of the fact, must be regarded as a gi'eat happiness in Perry 
Winkle. It may chance to send him down embalmed to 
future ages ; and it can not be otherwise than a source of 
comfort to departed Perry Winkles, to have the name re- 
membered when its owner is gone. The consideration is one 
for which multitudes freely render up their lives, often with- 
out obtaining it; and a single posthumous puff from the tin 
trumpet of chubby-cheeked fame, is thought to be a solid 
equivalent for any amount of sacrifice. To Perry Winkle, 
however, it will be an involuntary offering. He seeks not 
the bubble reputation, and it is probable that his indifference 
on this score will secure to him a prize for which others toil 
in vain. 

But it must be confessed, that Perry Winkle's claim to 
notice is rather moral and metaphysical, than of that active 



PERRY WINKLE. 31 

nature which is the more easily recognised. He has not 
been in battles, and he never so much as tried to kill people; 
he would scarcely have been distinguished as a soldier. A 
gun, particularly when the muzzle is grinning toward his 
person, excites no pleasurable emotions in Perry Winkle. 
He has an aversion to cold steel, and finds no music in the 
report of firearms. 

What, then, is this strange characteristic which is so much 
enlarged upon, as rendering Perry Winkle a person in whose 
presence we should instinctively and respectfully take off our 
hats 1 If Perry Winkle is notable mainly for doing nothing, 
what did he do to achieve his greatness 1 

Perry Winkle thinks. He ruminates, cogitates, meditates, 
contemplates, speculates, hesitates, and vegetates. Perry 
muses. There are nine muses already ; but Perry increases 
the number to ten. 

Doing is one thing; and, as the world is constituted, doing 
is a useful thing enough in its way. It would be improper 
to speak of it in terms of disparagement. We often find it 
obligatory to be doing. But yet, this " to do" — the "great- 
est to do" that can possibly occur — what is it in qualities of 
the true sublime, compared to that unseen and mysterious 
process which is known as thinking] There is force in 
thinking. 

Some people think all the hair off their heads. Shakspere 
and Julius Cesar were bald, as if the brain, like physical la- 
bor, works better without its jacket, and is never free in its 
energies and unembarrassed in its operations until it strips 
to the task. But without fully developing this idea, which 
no doubt will at some future day lead to important results, 
as regards the intellectual constitution of man, let it now be 
remarked, that it is wrong to reprove people for seeming to 
do nothing. There may be much of wisdom in the twiddling 
of thumbs. Who knows what a vast amount of thought may 
be performed when the individual appears only to whittle a 
etick ] — It was so with PeiTy Winkle. He is always think- 



B8 neal's sketches. 

ing, and is remarkable, among other remarkabilities, for the 
very little he can contrive to do, which augurs greatness with 
the certainty of a gimlet, though citizens of the more worldly 
cast regard it as a bore. 

And though Perry Winkle may in strictness be said to 
think for himself, he is not of an exclusive nature, and fre- 
quently thinks for other people, without standing on cere- 
mony, or waiting to be asked ; and it is his constitutional 
point, as well as his characteristic trait, never to anticipate 
anything but disaster. In this way, though he can not be 
spoken of as exempt from calamity, he certainly does con- 
trive to escape from the disappointments which cast a shadow 
over the lives of the most fortunate. Contrary to the prac- 
tices of a sanguine people, mischance with Perry is the rule, 
while success forms the exception ; and his predictions are 
so often verified by the result — he made a great hit at the 
time ** morus multicaulis" was in fashion — that he almost 
regards himself, to this extent at least, as gifted with a spe- 
cies of second-sight, and as nearly equal to the " seventh son 
of a seventh son," which he would doubtless have been, if 
his father and himself could each have had six elder brothers. 
It is indeed true that his forebodings are precisely the same 
in all cases. Whatever he attempts, or whatever other folks 
may chance to do, Mr. Perry Winkle anticipates the worst ; 
and his sagacity is more frequently vindicated by the event 
than is usual with those who seek to peer into futurity. 
When enterprises are embarked in. Perry Winkle indicates 
a shipwreck. When neighbors are sick. Perry Winkle i? 
beforehand with the doctor in assurances that they can not 
recovei ; and when the vessel is on the breakers, or the 
voice of mourning is heard, can any one deny that Perry 
Winkle was right ] When he was the smallest slip of a boy, 
did he not say he was sure the rope of a swing would break ; 
and did it not break, to the essential damage of Perry's 
bones 1 — didn't he know it would be so 1 How often has he 
shrieked to children as they climbed the fence or projected 



PERRY WINKLE. 33 

themselves from windows, that they would surely fall ; and 
did they not fall as soon as the startling announcement reached 
their ears 1 No wonder Perry Winkle looks upon himself 
as one as prophetically gifted as the famed Cassandra; and, 
happier than the croaking Trojan lady, he is presumed to 
derive a certain degree of pleasure from the fulfilment of his 
melancholy vocation. 

Others, perhaps, may find it difficult to realize Perry Win- 
kle's satisfactions ; but they are real to him, even if incom- 
prehensible to them. For instance — when the boat was 
capsized by a flaw of wind, and the cold and dripping Perry 
Winkle was fished up inanimate from the bottom of the river, 
ordinary individuals in his extremity, would have been quite 
unable to extract agreeable emotions from such a catastro- 
phe. Still less could they imagine how joy was to be deduced 
from it, when the humane but unskilful rescue, hoisted the 
water-logged Perry Winkle up by the heels, as if he were to 
be put to dry, like a herring. Nor would they have been a 
whit the more successful in ascertaining the comfort of it, 
when the exhausted man was rolled about bumpingly, upon 
a barrel, to wake up by rude knockings any remnant of life 
that might still reside within him. 

It was a rough method of resuscitation. In the opinion of 
those who are large in their experiences, and have tried this 
species of entertainment in addition to their other sports, it 
is considerably worse in itself, than the preliminary act of 
being drowned, which no one yet has ventured to set down 
as altogether funny. But the first gleam of consciousness 
was a ray of sunshine to Perry Winkle ; not because he had 
been restored to existence — Perry Winkle is rather indiffer- 
ent than otherwise on that score, considering it a little un- 
worthy of the true philosopher to have ** vitativeness large" 
— but because it illustrated an idea. It could not be denied 
that the shakes and bruises to which he had been so remorse- 
lessly subjected were vexatious, pain being a downright evil, 
as every one who has had a chance to know, must be aware. 

3 



34 neal's sketches. 

The clustering embellishments of his craniology — for PeiTy 
had not then thought much of his hair off — had been not a 
little diminished, leaving grievous reminiscences behind, by 
the boat-hook and other means resorted to for the purpose 
of drawing him from the bosom of the deep. His cuticle 
exhibited many fractures, as distressing to look upon as they 
were doleful to endure ; and he w^as half-smothered, besides, 
by the curious crowd of idlers on the wharf, who were study- 
ing the curative art upon his proper corporation, and were 
trying a vast detail of experiment on his personal identity. 
After they had held him up manually by the heels, and were 
somewhat pleased with the antipodean spectacle, they pro 
tracted their recreation more at leisure by using a block and 
tackle with the same object, as if it were intended to flay the 
victim ; so that when Perry snapped his eyes for the first 
time, he thought, naturally enough, that he had got to an- 
other world, where our order of things is reversed, and where 
"topsy-turvy" is the habitual practice ; or that he had floated 
off* to the cannibals, and was now being " dressed for dinner," 
not where he eats, but where he is eaten. And to be bundled 
hither and yon upon a barrel, which could not be described 
as travelling upon springs, let those do so who like it. Perry 
Winkle is not of their sort. 

But he had other sufferings to undergo. There was one 
man who thought that he had a specific for bringing the 
dead to life, by the application of Scotch snuff"; and Perry 
Winkle's reluctant nose received a liberal supply, it being 
supposed that such an appeal to his senses was not to be 
resisted by any one who intended to oblige his friends by 
revisiting the glimpses of the moon. To be sure, it was 
immediately declared, when his nose spiritedly resented the 
insult, that he was coming to, on the ground that "he sneezed 
fust rate," as any nose having pretensions to vitality would 
have done when thus assailed ; but whatever of delectation 
might have been found in a "fust-rate sneeze" under such 
circumstances, we do not, for our own part, believe that it 



PERRY WINKLE. 35 

was enhanced by the renewed application which it induced, 
under the popular impression that if a little is good, a great 
deal more must be better ; until, in despite of his earnest, 
but inarticulate remonstrances, Perry Winkle's weeping 
eyes were as full of the pungent preparation as his persecu- 
ted proboscis, and until the hapless man, whom water had 
spared, was in no little danger of being snuffed out like a 
farthing rushlight, escaping from Neptune to perish under 
the auspices of that sternutatory divinity who, in Highland 
garb, figures at the door of the tobacconist. Perry Winkle 
was never good " at a pinch." 

Nor was it an exquisite delight, in addition, to be fumiga- 
ted freely with the worst kind of "long nine," by that party 
of practitioners who held it as a cardinal maxim, that one's 
chances of existence are to be estimated by the vigor with 
which he may be provoked to cough. And then, again, 
the spirits which were forced down his throat to " warm 
him up," were rather remarkable for strength than for fla- 
vor, and excoriated as they went. It was not enough that 
Perry Winkle had been drowned and had been compelled 
to take the trouble to come to life, without the slightest 
regard to his own personal views upon a matter which so 
nearly concerned him — for he might have preferred, had he 
known all that was in waiting for him, to have continued as 
he was and where he was, among the little fishes, to be nib- 
bled quietly ; but he had likewise the task imposed upon 
him, to get well of his doctors — to patronize the Balm of 
Columbia, that his hair might grow anew — to recover from 
the effects, not only of his suspended animation, but like- 
wise of his suspended body, which had been hung contrary 
to the manner congenial to bodies, and had a right, there- 
fore, to be indignant — to forget his unwilling ride upon a 
barrel, to which he had been compelled, as if he were quali- 
fied for the work, like a bandy Bacchus, or had been for- 
mally sentenced to be broken upon the wheel — to be obliv- 
ious moreover, of snuff, cigars, and spirits, which, pleasant 



36 neal's sketches. 

sins though they be to some among the human family, are 
not to be considered as temptations, when used upon the 
individual remedially and nolens volens. 

Who, let us ask again, after so many miles of parenthesis, 
would have been gratified, like Perry Winkle — not that he 
was still in positive existence — there ai'e people to be met 
with who, though neither useful nor ornamental, could con- 
trive to be pleased at that — but because his own lugubrioub 
predictions had been verified ? 

"Atchee!" sneezed Perry, as he sat upon the ban-el — 
** atchee ! — stop off the snuff to this 'ere injine — every man 
smoke himself. I tell you — you — sir, with cigars at a 
cent a grab, and a hatful for a thank'ee, I'm not the glass 
works, all chimbly. Am I drowned, or am I not] — quit 
punching me in the ribs, and don't blow them bellowses 
down my throat any more. I've got breath enough already 
to last a week, and you can't blow a man any more alive 
than he's got room for. Am I still in the United States of 
Amerekey, agoing to the election, or have I lost my vote 
and gone somewheres else by water] Ami defunct] — 
hat's the question, Mr. Cheerman." 

On being furnished with all the information he required, 
Perry Winkle indulged in that creaking and rather sinister 
apology for a laugh, which is habitual to him. It is his idi- 
osyncratic laugh. One can always tell when Winkle laughs, 
that a disaster has occurred. Mischief is at hand — mischief 
which Perry had foretold. 

Perry Winkle only laughs when other people would cry. 
His mother took it for granted, when that sound was heard, 
that something had been broken. It invariably indicated 
that a screw was loose. Perry Winkle laughed o' this 
fashion, when Dobbin threw him over the fence. He 
looked up and laughed in Dobbin's face, because he had 
said, when his father placed him on the horse's back, that 
he knew he would get a tumble, and he did — just as he 
expected. Perry Winkle's laughs are mainly of that kind 



PERRY WINKLE. 37 

which are said to be produced " on the wrong side of the 
mouth." He constructs them there. 

" Hee ! haugh ! heugh !" laughed Perry, with a groaning 
Bound ; " I was just as sure this would happen jist so, 
as I am that I got up this morning. I'll leave it to old 
Tarpaul himself, if I didn't say his hulk of a boat would 
never do with its new sail — didn't I say she was too crank, 
with a great shot-tower of a mast — didn't I say that the 
first puff of wind would make his six-acre lot of a mainsail 
pull us right over ; and weren't we upsot beautiful in less 
than half an hour 1 He wanted to shorten sail ; but I 
wouldn't let him alter his stupid arrangements, and made 
him keep 'em as they were, so we could see who was right 
and who knowed best. He! he! who-o-o!" and Perry 
groaned again. " Didn't I tell 'em all we'd soon be down 
to David Joneses, riding sturgeons and chasing catfish, if 
things were kept so, and didn't I make the fellows keep 'em 
so, because they snickered and said I was a loblolly know- 
nothing 1 And then — smack! — didn't the breeze come, 
turning us head over heels, and this side up with care, in 
less than half a jiffy 1 I told you how it would be, said this 
little gentleman, as we went ca-splash into the water. Fool 
who, said I, about working a sailboat 1 I haven't had such 
a laugh for a year, and I wouldn't be done laughing yet if 
Tarpaul had not tuck me by the legs and pulled me right 
under water. Water sort of spoils jokes — spoils them tee- 
totally, as a body may say, when it's mixed more than half 
and half. Fishes can't have much fun, seeing that water is 
put into everything they've got." 

And Perry continued to chuckle and to groan alternately, 

until at last he fell back exhausted, as he muttered, " I told 

them so — I know'd exactly how it would be. If we had all 

been drowned, it would have been no more than right. Who 

asked these people to hook me out? But perhaps it's just 

as well, if somebody else has gone to Joneses — not that I 

wish them bad luck, but because I know'd how it would be " 
17 



38 neal's sketches. 

Assurances being given, however, that his companions' 
were also safe, Perry said : ** Well, there's some consolation 
yet — how old Tarpaul, and Ned, and Dick, and the rest, 
will try to sneak round the corner when they see this child 
a coming up the street with his mouth wide open, to ask 
'em who it was that know'd best about that boat of theirs. 
Pretty fellows, to be sure, to take a man out sailing and 
treat him to a capsize! — I'll make 'em confess that if it 
hadn't been for me, not one of 'em would be here now ; and 
I almost wish I hadn't come to life, so I might tell everybody 
whose fault it was that Perry Winkle had been brought to 
an untimely end, in the very flower of his youth and beauty. 
They'd never have heard the last of it." 

It will thus be seen that Perry Winkle is deficient in tha- 
joyons and buoyant trait of character which is classified by 
the phrenologists under the name of "hope," and which forms, 
not only the mainspring of enterprise, but likewise consti 
utes the chief charm of existence. The Perry Winkles are 
not at all given to hopefulness. Even when the sun sets, 
they are not quite sure that he pui'poses to rise again ; or 
are at least doubtful whether they will be in a condition to 
witness the spectacle. Perry has no pleasurable anticipa- 
tions. His hopes, if he may be represented as having any, 
are rather of the funereal cast — hopes with crape round 
their hats and white handkerchiefs to their eyes — hopes for 
the worst. No matter how gay the vista may seem to the 
ordinary spectator, Perry Winkle always contrives to dis- 
cover the coroner, with an inquest, sitting at the other end 
of it, busily engaged in finding a verdict. Shaking his head 
in advance. Perry "knew how it would be — didn't he tell 
'em sol" 

It was a peculiarity of the earliest development. When 
Perry Winkle filled a smaller space in society, being rather 
a bud than a rose — before he became a full-grown tulips 
it was his chance sometimes to be sent for what, in the ver- 
nacular of Philadelphia, is called, elegantly enough, a *' pen 



PERRY WINKLE. 89 

heth of milk," to enable the elderly Winkles to take their 
tea, as Winkles often do. In such cases, it generally hap- 
pened that a doleful plaint was soon to be heard at the door 
of the paternal mansion. Perry Winkle had returned in 
tears — Macbeth had but a barren sceptre in his gripe, not- 
withstanding the fuss he made to obtain it; and in Perry 
Winkle's grasp there was no other image of authority than 
the handle of the jug. The cunning fiend had juggled with 
him as well as with the king of Scotland. But the unfortunate 
youth had so much of an advantage that he, even at that early 
period of his existence, " know'd how it would be, if they 
would send him over there by that big dog" — though, perhaps, 
it was not so much the fault of the "big dog" himself that the 
calamity so invariably occurred, as it was attributable to the 
little Perry's own conduct, as he stood in his worn cap and 
dilapidated check apron, gazing fearfully at the "big duo-" 
couchant on his master's step — now making an imperfect 
attempt to run past, and then retreating with a douu^ful heart 
— again saying "get out," before the "big dog" had stirred, 
and shaking the aforesaid apron to alarm the canine digni- 
tary. It was scarcely an erroneous conclusion on the part 
of the "big dog," lazily inclined as he for the most part was, 
and as big dogs, thus distinguished from neiTous and petu- 
lant httle dogs, are apt to be, to imagine that something of 
an active nature was expected of him. Under this belief, the 
** big dog" would rise to his feet, and as Perry A¥inkle then 
shrieked and ran away, the " big dog" would briskly follow 
after and tear, not his own trovvsers, but those of Perry Win- 
kle — not so much in wrath, as under the impulse of a sense 
of duty. The "big dog" thought himself invited to do so — 
he no doubt regarded himself as conferring a favor when he 
did so. And as Perry Winkle made it a practice to drop the 
entire jug as he fled, and only to pick up the handle thereof, 
the " big dog" regarded this feat as included in the perform- 
ance, and looked upon it as necessary on his part to continue 
tearing th« trovvsers until the jug operation was completed; 



40 neal's sketches. 

after which he returned, with no little of self-satisfaction in 
his air, to the original door-step. 

Dogs, like men, are under the influence of public opinion. 
If they are treated as if they were expected to bite, they will 
often act up to the reputation — good or bad, as it may chance 
to be — which has been made for them in advance. It may, 
however, not be amiss to intimate that, as Perry always con- 
trived to come home without the penny, as well as being 
minus in regard to the jug, a suspicion was afloat that he 
labored a little to fulfil his own predictions as to how it 
** would be," and that, having previously expended the coined 
money in the purchase of dainties, he put himself in the "big 
dog's" way to secure an excuse. But of this no certain as- 
surances are to be obtained. It is certain, at least, that 
the dog was not in the secret, and Perry keeps his own 
counsel. 

At school, too — for Perry Winkle had been at school for 
a time, and knew nearly as much when he came away as 
he did when he went — he seldom had the pleasure of an 
acquaintance with his lessons, though he always "know'd 
how it would be," when appealed to by the rattan on the 
subject of extending his knowledge. " Jist what I expected," 
Perry would declare ; " I couldn't say one word of it when 
master called me up — not a single word — and I know'd 
exactly how it would be, before I tried. It's always so ; and 
it's no use sending me to school for the old man to cure his 
dyspepsy by dusting my jacket. He says it's all for my own 
good ! Pretty good, I don't think ! It hurts him more than 
it does me, hey 1 Then why don't he hand over the rattan, 
and take a regular lambasting himself] I'd larrup him all 
day, and never charge nothing for the job — I'll thank him 
for it some day, will I? — jist wait till I'm grow'd up, and 
ketch him out by Fairmount or somewheres — that's all." 

Perry played truant, and when detected, said he "know'd 
exactly how it would be — he couldn't get to school, if he tned 
*»ver so hard;" and his academic experiences were brought 



PERRY WINKLE. 



41 



to a close before he had *' completed his education" and 
learned everything up. A star went out at that time. 

Perry Winkle, then, is not the possessor of those faculties 
which enable men to advance themselves in the world. He 
contemplates disaster from the outset, and gives himself a 
moral defeat before he has entered upon the action. And 
hence his career through life, so far as his disposition to hold 
back can be called a career, is a series of mishaps. Being 
always satisfied that the undertaking will prove unfortunate, 
and pursuing it, or rather lagging after it, in such a spirit, he 
probably contributes not a little to the fulfilment of his own 
predictions. All that has sustained him is, as before hinted, 
the enjoyment which he derives from being a true prophet. 

Although Mr. Winkle has, in his time, had many situa- 
tions which were desirable enough, yet he continued to 
*' know how it would be," and never failed to be turned out 
of employment. " Jist as he expected," he never got from 
his bed in time to open the store. He " know'd he would 
forget to lock the door," and thieves carried off the goods. 
He '* know'd he would never remember to take hom.e the 
parcels," and customers were indignant. When he had a 
httle shop of his own, and affairs promised well enough, he 
would fasten the front entrance, and go round to the tavern 
to prophesy about matters and things in general ; and even 
then he *' know'd exactly how it would be," and that people 
always would keep a coming to the shop when he was not 
there. And finally, when he was sold out by Venditioni 
Exponas, or some other gentleman of the same unceremoni- 
ous family. Perry Winkle sat upon the counter drumming 
with his heels, and remarking to his sympathizing compan- 
ions, as they crowded in upon receipt of the news, " well, 
it's jist what I always expected — it's my luck — it has to bo 
80. Didn't I tell you that Pd bust up some day or other, 
and hasn't it come time, exactly as I said it would 1 I'll 
leave it to any man here whether I didn't say so ; and here 



42 neal's sketches. 

is old Venditioni Exponas, to prove that I'm never mistakeii. 
Somebody ought to treat — soitow's dry." 

*' I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Perry Winkle," responded 
old Venditioni Exponas, putting his great white hat more 
firmly on his head, and knocking the ivory tip of his big stick 
with emphasis upon the counter : " I'll tell you exactly how 
it is, and then you may look upon yourself as having learned 
something at last. This way you have got of knowing how 
tilings will be, is the very reason why they come to be so. If 
you won't get off the track when the locomotive's coming, 
anybody might know how it will be. You must take the 
trouble to jump out of the way, or you'll be run over. Stir 
your stumps — that's the doctrine. A good many curious 
concerns have been invented, but there's no machine yet to 
take care of people. They have to do it for themselves. 
Steam is marvellous, and clock-works are surprising — start 
'em and they'll go — wind 'em up and they'll run — and you 
can either turn in to sleep, or step out to see the soldiers. 
But self-keeping shops have not been discovered. Can a 
steam-enffine fork over the chancre for a five-dollar note? — 

o o 

can it measure off goods, hand a chair to the ladies, make a 
bow, or say thank'ee, ma'am"? No — you must mind your 
shop yourself, if you want your shop to mind you. A shop 
is more jealous than a sweetheart — you must keep paying 
it attention all the time, studdy." 

*' I know'd it would be so," observed Perry Winkle, as 
Mr. Exponas turned indignantly away, to make an inventory 
of the goods; "it's jist what I expected — constables is sassy, 
always. They think that people's things are only made to 
be seized and sold out, and that human natur' was sent down 
here jist to have writs served upon it, or to be tuck up for 
debts and assault and battery. But it's no more than what 
I expected — and I knew it was my fate some time or other 
to be bully- ragg'd in the legal way. When they built the 
debtor's apartment, they had me in their eyes." 



THE MORAL OF GOSLYNE GREENE. 43 



THE MORAL OF GOSLYNE GREENE: 

WHO WAS BORN TO A FORTUNE. 

That man is a moral. 

He is historically complete — a hero who has achieved his 
climax and has survived his catastrophe — one of those luck- 
less wights who outlive themselves, and tarry on the stage 
when their drama is over, posthumous to the action of the 
piece. Nothing can be more poetically ungraceful than to 
exist too lonof, and to gfo slouchinof down the world on the 
wrong side of your crisis, like the stupid stalk of an exploded 
rocket. 

To be a moral — 

Morals, in their plurality of number, are entitled to respect; 
but make it, gentle reader, ambitious though you chance to 
be, a matter both of solicitude and solicitation, that you may 
never, in the singular point of view, obtain the sad pre-emi- 
nence of being elevated- to the rank of a moral, to be stuck 
with a pin upon a card in the cabinet of ethical entomology, 
as a theme for lectures. The moral deducible from one's 
own experiences, is in some sort antagonistical to himself. 
It rises at the other end of the plank, and soars to import- 
ance as a text, just as he declines from the equipoise of a 
true balance. When, for instance, we are in the mire, our 
moral is at its superlative height of interest; and, generally 
speaking, the individual is capable of affording the most 
im-pressive moral when his morals are in their extreme state 
of dilapida-tion. It is too much to ask, even of a philan- 
thropihjl, that he should himself be a moral; but, luckily, 



44 neal's sketches. 

there are volunteers enough to supply the demand. As we 
said before — 

That man is a moral. 

You may see it in the sad dejection of his visage — in his 
pallid cheek and in his vacant aspect. There is also that in- 
describable air of shabby gentility in his well-worn garments, 
wiiich belongs almost exclusively to the man who is a moral, 
had we no manifestation in his habitual deportment that he 
has done with ambition and has parted with his hope. He 
moves, as it were, in solitude, though bustling crowds may 
throng the street. Amid the din of business or the hum of 
pleasure, there seems to be a circlet of silence about him ; 
and people unconsciously feel it as he approaches, that this 
man is a moral. They have at once an inclination to sym ■ 
pathize with him, they can not tell why, and yet to avoid 
him, they know not wherefore. Faces lengthen as he 
comes, and there is a passing chill in the atmosphere. The 
very children are disposed to circumnavigate him, by a 
detour to the right or left, as if they were aware that a les- 
son, and a lesson somewhat of the hardest, is before them. 
There is no mistaking the fact. A broken spirit buttons to 
the chin. Misanthropy, even if it is fortunate enough to 
possess the article, displays no collar to its shirt ; for w^hat 
cares it for vanity ? And the man who has no expectation 
to feed his energies, indicates forlornness by a gloomy slam 
of the hat, that he may see and not be seen, knowing that 
it is by the eyes alone we learn aught of each other, and 
that if they be shaded from the view, we are isolated and 
apart. "We can not err. He who loiters in the highways 
when others hurry by — he who reposes in public squares 
when nothing else is there but a truant dog or two in race 
through the grass, must be a moral, a completed moral — a 
deduction and an inference from the aggregate of active 
humanity, to be read and pondered over at the close of the 
fable. He is something that was — something which now only 
appears to be. 




THE MORAL OF G08LYNE GREENE, AVUO WAS BORN TO A FORTUNE. Book U, paje iS. 



THE MORAL OF GOSLYNE GREENE. 4ff 

But why was he — why was Goslyne Greene — for it is 
of him we speak — why was this man loaded with a moral 1 
why is it his hard fate to be a locomotive homily and a 
perambulating sermon ] For no other reason, than that it 
was his mishap to begin at the wrong end of existence, and 
to construct his story downward. 

Yes, it is indeed a terrible thing — we dread to mention 
it — the pen falters as we write the fearful words, and we 
look round with apprehension lest others may be involved in 
the same awful concatenation of circumstances ; but still, 
cheered by the fact that such shocking calamities do not 
often happen, and that, on this favored side of the Atlantic 
at least, the course of events contributes to preserve the 
human race from being thus oppressed, we summon up 
courage to announce the fact, that it was the unutterable 
wo of Goslyne Greene — poor unoffending infant — to be 
born to a fortune ! — that it was his disaster to come into 
the world as heir to cash, to stocks, to bond and mortgage, 
to real estate — to money in hand, to dividends, to interests, 
and to rents. He cried — afflicted child — when he was thus 
inauspiciously ushered into life, and for several days, and 
nights too, if tradition is to be credited, he continued to up- 
raise his tiny and inarticulate voice, as if in remonstrance 
at the wrong which had been done to him. Nay, he was 
long a wailing babe, pained in anticipation by his melan- 
choly moral. ** Good gracious," exclaimed the nurse, 
"what ails the boy!" and the choicest drugs that chymic 
art could offer, went soothingly down his vocal throat, but 
without affecting the pacification of Goslyne Greene. It 
was not physical, but metaphysical, aid that he needed, and 
Mrs. Jones was incapable of the ministration. 

Unhappy Goslyne Greene! — and yet his mother received 
visits of congratulation, and people shook his father by, the 
hand. There were rejoicings in the mansion. Matrons 
and maids strove gleefully to welcome the little stranger ; 
and every one who gazed upon him, endeavored by the 



46 neal's sketches. 

force of imagination, to discover family resemblances in his 
round undeveloped features, or, at least, beauty in his in- 
fantile ugliness. Our Goslyne was a love, a darling — the 
image of its "ma" — a counterpart of "pa." The phrenolo- 
gists promised genius, and there was reason to apprehend, 
in short, that Crichton would no longer have the monopoly 
of being " admirable," and that the river would be set on 
fire at last, through the gifts of Goslyne Greene. But while, 
in this respect, he only shared the common lot — for we are 
all prodigies in the cradle — still Goslyne had lace upon his 
cap and velvet to his couch, with splendor dll about. Born 
to a fortune! Enviable creature! — Why did he thus 
wrinkle up his pudgy nose and weep with direful squalls ? 
The more he was kissed, the more he was caressed, the 
more he was admired and felicitated, the more angrily did 
he sob and shriek. It may be that his unsophisticated per- 
ceptions saw little else than bitter irony in the flattering 
compliments that were bestowed upon him, and could dis- 
cover small reason for being glad that another sufferer had 
been added to the roll, for the benefit mainly of the tailor, 
the physician, and the undertaker, which, it is to be pre- 
sumed, is the philosophy of our indignant uproar at the 
commencement of this sublunary career. 

Besides, what had Goslyne done to be thus doomed to a 
fortune ? He appeared to have as much intellect as other 
babes. His voice was as strong — his back as straight — 
his legs and arms as capable as theirs ; and yet he was to be 
denied the natural and lawful use of his gifts and faculties. 
No wonder his cries were unremitting, and that his wrath 
rose as the state of the case was made obvious by the throng- 
ing of his courtiers. 

In truth, Goslyne Greene was himself not at all to blame 
in the premises. His father had toiled with but a single 
hope that his son might be born to a fortune; and that hojie 
had been accomplished, as hopes sometimes are, to prove 
perhaps that the succea'* of our wishes is not always the 



THE MORAL OF GOSLYNE GREENE. 47 

most desirable thing that could happen to us. *• Goslyne 
will be rich, any how," said the old gentleman, in the midst 
of his labors, as if he found consolation in the fact, and as if 
he had thus secured his son's welfare and happiness beyond 

he reach of doubt. 
The majority of the world will probably agree in opinion 

Aith the elder Mr. Greene ; for it is the popular sentiment 
that the fact of being rich, and not the process of getting 
rich, is the happiness. But, in this case, and probably in 
many others, the reverse was the truth. The father had a 
pleasant life enough under the influence of an absorbing 
object, while the son is a man with a moral ; and it may be 
that people are often overruled in this matter, for the ad- 
vantage of posterity. Who knows but that the follies and 
extravaofances of those who have either the command of 
wealth or the prospect of it — their speculations and their 
splendors — their ** operations" and their magnificence — 
are, after all, but an element in the plan of wisdom, intend- 
ed at intei'vals to afford a new impulse by a reduction to the 
primitive, healthful, and energetic state of having more wants 
and wishes than we have the means to supply 1 A dabble 
in the stocks does not always turn out profitably ; cotton 
sometimes is heavy on our hands, and real estate will sulkily 
retrograde, when, by the calculation, it ought to have ad- 
vanced. But are we sure that such events are a visitation 
of unmitigated disaster 1 May not that dusky spectre, a 
dun, "hated of gods and men," whose portentous tap causes 
the heart to quake and the pocket to quiver, have a mission 
of far greater importance than to make the mere demand 
for money 1 Superficially considered, it was a sad business 
when morus 7nulticaulis toppled from its airy height, and 
brought so many to the earth along with it. To find one's 
fifty-dollar twigs suddenly reduced to the level of sixpenny 
switches, is by no means a pleasant waking from golden 
dreams; and to decline from the damask luxury of a chario, 
to plain pedestrianism, is a sinking in poetry which afFectf? 



48 neal's sketches. 

the mind by the force of contrast. People, for the most 
part, are not please-l with changes of so violent a character, 
and have a decidec^ aversion to the downward movement, 
whatever they may have done to render it indispensable. 
And yet reverses r.re often medicinal. There is much of 
virtue in an alternative. The necessity for walking, which 
is thus i<nposed, may be the only prescription to bring the 
mind and body ba<-k to their native vigor. Both are liable 
to be invaded by an apoplectic pursiness, which demands 
severe training to preserve us from lethargy, and to afford 
room for the saluf /iry play of our faculties. The spirit, like 
the corporeal fabTic in which it is enclosed, is exposed to 
the danger of growing rotund, asthmatic, indolent, and un- 
wieldly ; and perchance, even as regards those for whom we 
labor, if our vision were keen enough to embrace the whole 
scheme of this earthly struggle, we might be induced to look 
upon a financial catastrophe now and then, as a providential 
interference, and to rejoice over the enlivening incident of 
being ruined occasionally, as if it were a capital prize in the 
lotteiy of adventure — like a shower-bath — a sharp shock to 
the nerves ; but, in its reaction, exceedingly tonic and re- 
freshing'. 

The elder Mr. Greene, however, was rather of a practical 
cast than of a meditative nature, content in the outward 
seeming of things without cracking for the kernel ; and it is 
not at all likely that he would have credited it, even if you 
had told him so, that the primitive Goslyne is the safest bird, 
and that, when it is compelled to nibble over a somewhat 
arid common for a living, the position is better than if the 
nutriment were gathered to its neb. Observe, now, when 
a man's pockets are stimulantly vacant — when a new coat 
is rather an abstract idea than a palpable presence — when 
the pleasure of having a good dinner to-day, is enhanced by 
a small and appetizing degree of doubt as to the nature of 
the viands which will grace his board to-morrow, what a 
ouick, lively, interesting little creature he becomes. How 



THE MORAL OF GOSLYNE GREENE. 49 

his manners are improved ; how his temper is ameliorated; 
how all sorts of morbidities and misanthropies are shaken 
to the winds, as too expensive for indulgence, and how evil 
habit is dispensed with until the purse may admit of such 
gentlemanlike recreations ; while, on the other hand, who 
arises willingly from his coach, or has a spontaneous dis- 
position to go to bed at reasonable hours ? Why, what a 
languid time we would have of it, if it were only requisite 
to form a wish to insure its gratification. Even our plane- 
tary duty of revolving upon an axis, and of strolling round 
the sun, for the sake of varieties of light, and for a patron- 
izing encouragement of the little seasons, might come to be 
neglected from a want of inducement to take the trouble of 
rolling ; and we should lose caste in the solar system by be- 
ing too indolent to perform our gyrations, or to extend the 
shadow of eclipse. 

The elder Mr. Greene would have stared at an attempt 
to demonstrate, that perhaps one's real felicity is to be es- 
timated rather by what one wants, than by what one has ; 
and, though realizing the truth in his own person, that the 
pursuit is often more of a pleasure than the possession, he 
would have thought it strange enough, if he had been told 
that it is frequently a misfortune to be free from care. 

But Goslyne Greene verified a fact, the knowledge of 
which had been denied to his paternal predecessor. Though 
surrounded by mere conventional thinkers — by those who 
think they think, and labor under the delusion of supposing 
they have opinions of their own, when they only reflect the 
image presented to them — and who, by dint of reiteration 
had worn out Goslyne's original and instinctive aversions 
to his peculiar position in the world, manifested by juvenile 
whimpers, which had more of wisdom in them than is often 
to be found in the gravest nod of a snow-crowned head — 
still Goslyne returned at last, but rather circuitously, it 
must be confessed, to the primary sentiment, and perfected 
the moral. In the long interval, however, he was •* sopbis- 

4 



60 neal's sketches. 

t.icate;" and, like the mass of mankind, took things for true 
because everybody says so, when perhaps this species of 
universal concession is rather a suspicious circumstance, and 
should awaken scrutiny. 

" Born to fortune" came, therefore, pleasantly enough to 
the ears of Goslyne Greene. He soon learned tx) consider 
himself as an exempt from the discipline of the drill sergeant. 
The filings and facings which necessity imposes were nothing 
to him. There was no reason why his step should be regu- 
lated, or why he should be obliged to march to measure. 
Goslyne had a gun before he had any conception of the pur- 
poses of that complicated contrivance. Goslyne had a pony, 
with a "colored gentleman" appurtenant, to hold him on the 
saddle. Goslyne had a watch before he knew there was such a 
thing as time, and before he had the slightest idea of the trouble 
he would hereafter have to kill the horological enemy, which 
was destined to hang so heavy on his hands. Other children 
must dream of drums and sigh for drums till Christmas ; but 
drums were attainable by Goslyne every day in the year ; 
and drums, thus reduced to their sheepskin realities — the 
drum in fact, and not the drum of imagination — became a 
weariness. It is not our business to invalidate proverbs, and 
the birds may have it their own way; but an anticipated 
drum is in every respect more fascinating than any quantity 
of drums in hand ; and the philosophy of this has an extended 
application. Goslyne, however, had no anticipations. Almost 
from the very outset, he was compelled to puzzle himself to 
imagine new pleasures, and to harass his mind to conceive a 
want. Now, there are few distresses more essentially dis- 
tressing than to want a want. Other difficulties may be sur- 
mounted ; but when we experience a difficulty because we 
have not got a difficulty, what is to be done 1 Goslyne had 
many fatiguing hunts through the region of his fancy, in the 
hope that under some unsuspected, untried bush, he might 
be lucky enough to beat up an unsatisfied desire. How often 
did he wish that there was something which he had not, that 



THE MORAL OF GOSLYNS GREENE. 51 

he mtglit enjoy the sport of wishing that he could have it — a 
coinmon amusement enough, but one with which Goslyne 
was not at all familiar; and it was this very deficiency that 
goaded him on to his moral. 

From the force of circumstances, Goslyne unavoidably be- 
came an indolent boy. People did everything for him, when 
it is childhood's happy impulse to do all things, however im- 
perfectly, for itself, and when it joyfully seeks the wisdom 
of ex})eiience, by an endless variety of experiments, triumph- 
ing through tears, tumbles, breakages, and damage of all 
sorts and sizes. But Goslyne was supervised and carefully 
tended ; and being born to a fortune, the mountain came to 
the little Mahomet, instead of Mahomet going to the mount- 
ain. He rarely, indeed, had the opportunity of improvino^ 
himself by a fall down stairs on his own special account ; 
and probably never gathered knowledge by an uninterrupted 
dabblo in a tub of water. If he would climb the fence, John 
lifted him to the top ; and if he wanted to make a horse of 
the poker, an expensive toy was substituted, to the death of 
all ingenuity and imagination. Goslyne was tamed and 
tranquillized at last into a nice boy, and his mind, like hia 
body, lost relish for adventure. He looked to others for his 
entertainment, and required grimaces to be made at him to 
create his laughter. John beat the hoop, while Goslyne 
looked on ; and Tom turned heels over head, that Goslyne 
might enjoy the sport without risking a bruise. It was a 
business to amuse the child, when that is a business belong- 
ing chiefly to the child itself 

Goslyne had not even elasticity enough left for mischief, it 
was so tiresome when the edge of its novelty had been some- 
what blunted by repetition. What fun is there in the demo- 
lition of windows, when one would just as soon pay for the 
broken glass as not] Who would fatigue himself to run 
down all manner of streets, when half a dollar is sure to stop 
the pursuit 1 Why poach for fruit upon foibidden ground, 
when cash can procure much better fruit, with John to gc 



52 neal's sketches. 

for it, and with no agitation of trouble and excitement? 
Goslyne had not discovered that this "trouble" constitutes 
the poetry of almost everything w^ithin the range of human 
enjoyment. We are born to trouble ; and it is lucky that it 
is 80, or how should we fill up our time 1 It might not, per- 
haps, be difficult to demonstrate that the abrogation of do- 
mestic and scholastic " correction," which is yielding to the 
progress of innovating philanthropy, has made the present 
generation less jocund than its predecessors. For who can 
deny that it was an exquisite pleasure to " 'scape whipping," 
when that description of appeal to the feelings was in fash- 
ion 1 But the enlivening sensations thus derivable were not 
accorded to the wealthy Goslyne Greene, as being an enjoy- 
ment suitable only to the plebeian order. No wonder he 
yawned — nobody ever ventured to put him in a rage by 
thwartings and contradiction. How could he do otherwise 
than stagnate? 

In the matter of acquirement at school and at college, the 
achievements of Mr. Greene were just about what would be 
anticipated from his earlier training ; and he arrived at the 
conclusion to have it so, by two converging processes of 
thought, which were brief, and did not impose a heavy tax 
upon the reasoning powers. 

" Learning things is a trouble," said Goslyne, " and I 
hate trouble. What's the use of being rich, if we are to 
have trouble V* 

This was the first stretch of his intellect ; and he reposed 
upon its laurels for a considerable series of years, when, his 
faculties being fully matured, he reflected as follows : — 

"What do people take trouble for — what do they learn 
things for] Why, to get a living. But I have got a living 
already, and more than a living. Then, what's the use ?" 

And Goslyne ceased to think further on the subject, lest 
he should injure the delicace organization of his brain by the 
entertainment of abstruse propositions. He, therefore, 
yawned and sauntered through academic groves until he 



THE MORAL OF GOSLYNE GREENE. 53 

reached the estate of manhood, together with the estate 
which his father had accumulated for him. 

Now came the most arduous part of the eifort to live 
pl'easurably without trouble — to gather roses without a 
thorn. Never was humanity more perplexed. The tiresome 
fiend was close at Goslyne's heels wherever he might be, 
whether vegetating at home or hurrying in travel. He tried 
change of place. He tried horses and dogs. Gay compan- 
ions wearied him. Amusements became insipid. There 
appeared to be no end to the day, and the night was equally 
as " tardy-gaited." The delights of the table seemed to 
promise well, and he endeavored to fill up intervals by Api- 
cian indulgences ; but he was too inactive in body to carry 
on gormandizing to advantage for any length of time; and he 
found that to vibrate between the cook and the physician, with 
a preponderating tendency toward the man of medicine, was 
a species of trouble for which, on the whole, he had very lit- 
tle fancy. Enlistments under the banner of Bacchus proved 
equally unproductive ; and in games of hazard, he suffered a 
certain degree of annoyance when he lost his money, with no 
compensating satisfaction when he won the money of other 
people, as he had always cash enough, and had undergone 
no such experience in a deficiency thereof to give zest to 
pecuniary acquisitions. 

He labored to persuade himself once upon a time that he 
had fallen in love, undertaking to be sentimental in "yellow 
kids," and paying particular attention to costume. The 
lady's brothers borrowed his money, drank his wine, smoked 
his cigars, rode his horses, broke his carriages, and treated 
him in everyway as "one of the family;" while the lady 
herself dragged him from company to company, from ooi'- 
cert to theatres, caused him to come for her and to go for 
her, and danced him thi'ough a whole winter; so that, when 
they were just about to fix the "happy day," the timely 
thought struck him, in the midst of a yawn of unusual width 

and weariness, that he did not like the affair altogether, and 

18 



54 NEAL S SKETCHES. 

that he would take no more "trouble" in relation to it. 
There was much talk about horsewhips, about breaches of 
promise, express and implied, about the pulling of noses, 
horizontal and vertical, coupled with hints concerning hair- 
triggers and percussion caps. 

"As for assaults and battery, suits at law, and permitting 
fellows to fire at you as if you were the target in a shooting- 
gallery, it's decidedly too much trouble," yawned Goslyne 
Greene. ** Tell 'em to send in a bill of how much it comes 
to for letting me off, and I'll pay. It's cheaper than being 
shot, and not half so much trouble as mati'iraony seems 
to be." 

But the star of Goslyne Greene had reached its culminating 
point, and began to wane. His fortunes had suffered much 
from his mode of living, and more from an unwillingness to 
encounter the " trouble" to look afler his affairs. 

Mr. Thimblerig, who had kindly undertaken to manage all 
investments for him, and to increase his cash by profitable 
speculation, thought it proper one fine nfoniing to depart for 
Texas, leaving no particular explanatory remarks behind 
him, and, indeed, leaving the remarks to be made by other 
people, though he left nothing else that was portable or con- 
vertible, either of his own or belonging to the estate of Gos- 
lyne Greene. Goslyne had an idea that he ought to feel as 
a goose is reputed to feel. 

•* I always had a suspicion that Thimbleiig was a little of 
a rascal," thought he; " but then the fellow was so handy, 
and saved such a deal of trouble." 

There was something left, to be sure. Thimblerig had 
not completely swept the board; but, in such cases, it often 
happens that it never rains without pouring. A commercial 
crisis swept over the land. Banks exploded ; speculations 
vanished into thin air; money loaned was not worth seeking 
after. The work begun by his faithless agent was now per- 
fected, and Goslyne Greene was reduced, like mighty Cesar, 
to the petty measure of his physical dimensions, without cir- 



THE MORAL OP GOSLYNE GREENE. 66 

cumstance or accompaniment — a simple Goslyne, independ- 
ent of feathers. 

'* I'm afraid there's going to be trouble," said he, as he 
looked at the collapsed condition of his purse. " But never 
mind — I can borrow*" 

The theory of borrowing, as Goslyne had learned it, by 
occupying the place of a lender, is essentially different from 
the practice of borrowing when one tries it on his own ac- 
count. The world has various aspects, according to the 
position from which it is viewed ; and when an individual 
" born to a fortune" gets into the reverse attitude, and seeks 
to do as he has been done by, the difference is striking. 
Goslyne was surprised to find, when he endeavored to live 
upon other people as other people had lived on him, that it 
was rather a severe and an unpleasant method of operation. 

" Well, if I'd had any idea of this before," said he, when 
disappointed in an effort to raise five dollars in the way of a 
friendly loan, *'it would have saved a deal of trouble, and a 
considerable quantity of money." 

But it was rather too late in the day with the unfortunate 
Goslyne Greene, to unlearn everything and to begin his life 
anew. He had no qualifications for the task either, even if 
the inclination had not been lacking ; and he discovered, 
painfully enough, that being ** born to a fortune," where it is 
much easier to make money, difficult as that process may be, 
than to keep it when it is made, is not always the greatest 
kindness that our guardian angel can bestow. Riches with 
us is a bird of an incredible power of wing, and has qualities 
of escape and evasion which skill itself is often unavailing to 
combat. The bird was gone from Goslyne ; but having had 
no training as a fowler, there was no help, and he was obliged 
to trust his future life to chance. 

He ekes out a precarious existence on the reluctant kind 
ness of former friends, and by appeals to the feelings of his 
kinsfolk, who, however near in former times, are now dis- 
posed to be " distant relations" in regard to him. He is, 



56 neal's sketches. 

nevertheless, as averse to trouble as ever, when there is a 
possibility of avoiding it, and rarely removes from hotel or 
boarding-house until the politeness of the landlord induces 
him to say, that he will forgive arrearage for the sake 
of hastening Mr. Goslyne Greene's -departure from the 
premises. 

"And that is what I call behaving like a gentleman," saya 
Mr. Greene; "it saves a deal of trouble in the adjustment 
of accounts ; and as I don't understand figures, people are 
80 apt to impose upon me." 

Latterly, however, he begins to think that this mode of set- 
tlement is too much to the advantage of the opposite party, 
and that he, being at the trouble of looking out for a new 
domicil, should have something to boot, in the shape of a 
small subsidy or an order upon a ready-made clothing estab- 
lishment, just for the sake of symmetry and to make the mat- 
ter perfectly square; and he proposes to carry out the idea 
when the next occasion offers itself. Whether his conduct 
in thus obtaining credit, is altogether creditable, is left to 
the reader to decide. It is enough for us to have presented 
" The Moral of Goslyne Greene, who was born to a fortune," 
that they who are not thus distinguished may rejoice over 
their peculiar happiness in being with the majority on this 
question, and esteem themselves lucky in beginning life at 
its smaller and lower end. 



JOHNNY JUMPITF. 57 



JOHNNY JUMPUP, 

THE RISING SON. 

Life is full of difficulties — a trying time it is altogether, 
not only in the Oyer and Terminer, but likewise in other 
places quite as remote from justice as the courts of law. 
Everybody lives, after a fashion. They must do it, or em- 
brace an alternative that is disagreeable ; but there are many 
who find that to live, easy and natural as some people may 
think it, is one of the most troublesome jobs they ever un- 
dertook. But after we rise above the mere first principles 
of existence, and have succeeded in making tolerably sure 
of a reasonable supply of breakfasts, dinners, and suppers, 
clothing and house-room included, which is elementary liv- 
ing — the practical and physical part, on which we are to 
erect the romance, the poetry, and the ornament — then comes 
the grandest perplexity of all, where emulation exists, and 
where ambition flourishes, to prevent the individual — just 
as like as not me, or may be you — from being completely 
absorbed in the mass of mankind, as only one in the statisti- 
cal returns of the census, and to fashion for him a distinctive 
feature of some sort, that shall single him out from the gen- 
eral family of the race, and cause others to designate him 
with "extended finger," as he circulates among the crowd. 
Merely to live, and to breathe, and to be the inert consumer of 
a certain amount of provant and provision, is that to content 
a soul replete with ardor, hungry for oreferment, and athirst 
to be distinofuished 1 

No — it is required that we should be a sensation — an 
electric spark — nomctliing: on the thunder and licrhtniny 



58 neal's sketches. 

principle — rather than a mere negative quality, with noth- 
ing of the flash or sparkle about it. But how 1 — ay, there's 
the rub — how are we to be a shock to the nerve of the 
millions ? 

" That's Stiggins !" say they; and if every eye is turned 
at the word, to gaze with wonder and amaze at him who 
rejoices in the euphonious appellation of Stiggins — if the 
name of Stiggins hath associations connected with it, either 
for good or for evil — admiring love or malignant hate — 
which are sufiicient to attract the regards of all to its lucky 
possessor, who so happy as " Stiggins," standing as he does, 
upon a pedestal, to receive the homage of the bystanders. 

"That's Stiggins!" is the cry, which Stiggins, in proud 
humility, affects not to hear, while Stiggins is inwardly 
rejoicing at the glances which rest upon his lineaments. 

" Hey ! — where 1 — what 1 — which is Stiggins V 

" Oh, show me Stiggins !" 

"Won't he wait till I run home for my wife? — she's half 
dead to see Stiggins." 

"Lawks! — do tell! — and is that Stiggins] I've seen 
Stiggins at last, with my own eyes, 1 have." 

Do not pretend that you do not envy Stiggins — the happy 
Stiggins. When such a state of things as we now attempt 
to describe, waits on any of the Stigginses, it may be set 
down at once that he has seated himself upon the utmost 
" rung" of felicity's ladder — that he is at the high topgal- 
lant of his joy — has completed his pyramid and has capped 
his climax. Stiggins need not stay — he may leave the 
world now just as soon as he pleases — there is little left for 
him to do. 

Why, say'st thou, should Stiggins cease from effort ana 
permit himself to be evaporated — why? 

Because this is fame — this is the laurel of renown — this, 
the Ultima Thule of vaulting ambition — all that Stiggins 
can do in the way of elevating himself above the swampy 
level of the rest of creation. 



i 



JOHNNY JUMPUP. 69 

" Stigglns !" — with a " Hurrah for Stigglns," or "A groan 
for Stiggins" — either way — be not particular — his leafy- 
laurelled chaplet is completed. Stiggins has, you see, con- 
quered a notoriety and climbed unto an apex — a feat rarely 
to be accomplished more than once in a lifetime, it being a 
settled rule — there's so many of us — that no one shall have 
more than a day. 

Why should Stiggins be now exploded, and go off, like a 
rocket, from the busy stage. 

Because, when we are as high as we can go, the notoriety 
that has been attained must thenceforth be on the wane, with 
a greater or less degree of rapidity, according to the extent 
of our skill and tact in the nourishment, cherishment, and 
preservation of our passing glory. It is doleful to be one of 
the "have beens" — melancholy to wander about as a mem- 
ber of the " used to was" family — and he who is the idola- 
ter of fame, will find it the best policy, if he desires to be 
remembered, to disappear in the full meridian of his great- 
ness, instead of waiting till it is night. For still, it wanes, 
do what we will to the contrary ; and he who is hailed with 
shouts of applause whenever he presents himself in public, 
should be as busy with his hay as possible, now that the sun 
is shining ; for very soon he will decline into nothing more 
than one of the multitude, and be left to wonder what has 
become of the thronging circle of his admirers. The truth 
is, that the public can not afford to be puffing up anybody's 
balloon for a length of time, and are apt, after a while to per- 
mit it to drop down in a state of collapse. But to dismiss 
such saddening reflections upon the mutabilities of things, 
let us repeat once more, like a chub!>y-cheeked Fame in full 
blast upon a speaking-trumpet — 

"That's Stiggins!" 

Let Stiggins rejoice in his distinction : for no matter how 
he conquered it, and it avails not why it is accorded to him, 
it can not be denied that he — Stiggins — is now what we 
may call a thing of glory and a matter of renown. — Is it not 



60 neal's sketches. 

for this that the writer bums the midnight oil ; and, like the 
cuttle-fish, darkens all around him by an inky flood 1 — 
Fame ! — *' 7nonstrari digito" — " there he goes !" — does not 
the warrior fight for it, bleed for it, die for it] And what 
toils, what dangers, what perils, do we not cheerfully un- 
dergo for such reward, unsubstantial as it may appear ] — 
Notoriety — distinction ! — ambition craves ; and there is not 
a path to such attainment, be it lofty, or be it depressed, that 
is not crowned with eager and jostling competitors, only to 
hear the welcome whisper as they pass, that " this is Stig 
gins." 

There are all sorts of ways essayed to climb the steeps ofi 
renown. Some of us write books — others fisfht in battles — 
the duello is resorted to by many — others keep race-horses ^ 
while there be men in the pursuit of fame, who will eat yo^* 
a hundred or two of oysters at a single sitting, on a wager, 
and down in a cellar. 

Fame — we must have fame, if we can get it — a littSe 
something peculiar to ouselves, that shall set up and main- 
tain a difference — perceptible and admitted — between us 
and all the rest — " myself alone," with nothing to be seen 
of the like pattern in any other person's house, even if the 
radiation from our name should not be enabled to cast its 
beams beyond the most limited circle; and hence it is — we 
are sure you wince under it yourself — that no man likes to 
be confounded in the minds of persons, indifferent as they 
may be to him in the main, with any other man, either 
on the score of a similarity of name, or on any account 
whatever. There can no|, indeed, be a worse compliment 
than not to know that Brown is Brown, or that Smith is 
Smith, or Jones is Jones ; for though there be, as proved by 
the directory, many Browns, several Smiths, and not a few 
of the Joneses, yet each individual, not only of these names, 
but of all other names that may be suggested, feels that he 
is, pre-eminently, the person of that name, not to be mistaken 
or to be overlooked ; and \yhcn, awkwardly, as it often hap- 



JOHNNY JUMPUP. 61 

pens, an unconsciousness of our existence or of who we are^ 
is exhibited — it is a folly to seek to palliate the offence by 
fioothings or apologies — our self-love is writhing under a 
wound. *' Beg pardon — didn't know you !" — Yet we have 
been here, or there, or elsewhere, all the time — yea, figur- 
ing just as largely as we could upon our little stage — and 
still you were not aware that we had ever been born at all, 
supposing us to be anybody in general, or nobody in partic- 
lar ! Say no more — we are essentially snubbed ; and you 
can not make it better by these bungling efforts to explain 
away the original error. 

But be careful for the future — never, while you live, be 
so rash as to admit to any person's face that you never 
chanced to hear of him before — never, while you live, be 
induced to confess that you mistook him for somebody else, 
because there are so many of that name. Better try to play 
with lions as you would with common people, than thus 
to trifle with a man's identity — it's dangerous; for it is a 
jar, brimming full of bitterness, for any man to discover that 
the identity which occupies all his thoughts, all his time, and 
all his care, is yet so little of an identity, that he has not 
been able to assume a distinctive aspect in the eyes of the 
community which surrounds him. 

" That's Stiggins !" 

" Yes — but who is Stigr-ains ]" 

Now, we ask you — "on your apparel" — is not such a 
cruel query as that enough to be — apoplectically — the 
death of the hardiest, toughest, knottiest Stiggins, that ever 
floated on the tide of time 1 " Unknown," as they say in 
the bills of mortality, would not that be fatal to the most 
vital of us 1 And then, to hear our dear self spoken of so 
cheaply as "a Mr. Stiggins" — "one Mr. Stiggins" — or, 
worse than either, " some Mr. Stiggins," as if, with all our 
toil, we had been so far a failure as not to be able to project 
ourselves a single notable inch beyond the level of undistin- 
guished Stigginsism. It is sufficient to cause any person, 



62 neal's sketches. 

however averse to hydropathy, and antago istical to the cold 
water principle, to cast himself into the river, as the nearest 
attainable approach \.o felo-de-se. 

And here we have it why it is, that indisputable distinc- 
tion, whatever be its kind, is so flattering and so precious 
that mankind counts no cost too gi'eat that may be required 
to make it sure ; and that everybody fondles it so affection- 
tely when it has been obtained, often believing, indeed, that 
we do possess it when we have it not. 

And so, too, in paternal and maternal affection. It is not 
to be controverted that the child is yet to be born, which, in 
the eyes of those to whom it more immediately appertains, 
is not gifted by nature with faculties that will never allow it 
to be absorbed in insignificancy, or to be taken and mistaken 
for any other child. " There can be no mistake in this child," 
as they say in popular phraseology. It is a bright particu- 
lar star in the firmament of babydom. Look, now — you 
see, as it reaches forward to inflict endearing scratches upon 
the accommodating nose which you so politely extend tow- 
ard it for infancy's special amusement, you see that it 
** takes notice," differently fi'om common children, and thus 
gives indubitable evidences of a latent genius. Perhaps it 
talks sooner — that's the force of genius — or may be it talks 
later — that's the slumbering and growing strength of genius 
— than other children talk. It recognises its "da-da" — its 
proud da-da — in a way that is certainly peculiar to itself; 
and it goes on, step by step, in developing one evidence of 
coming greatness after another evidence of coming great- 
ness, so that we are at last stupified to find, on encountering 
the test of downright experiment and of actual collision with 
the world, that our prodigy was merely a prodigy when in 
bud, the genius and the greatness not having survived an 
emancipation from the nursery; and then, the prodigy hav- 
ing itself been, in all likelihood, deluded into a belief that it 
is a prodigy, is compelled, painfully and slowly, to discover 
Its real value, and to acquiesce in being placed, for the rest 



JOHNNY JUMPUP. 63 

of its existence, in a position merely subordinate — a task 
which, in many cases, is so replete with mortifications that 
it is but imperfectly performed, and the sufferer goes through 
life groaning under the erroneous impression that he came 
upon the stage before the world was sufficiently advanced 
to comprehend his merits, and that he is decidedly '* The 
Unappreciated One." 

At all events, it is clear that the world is ever full of 
wonderful babies — but not remarkable at any time for a 
superabundance of wonderful men. 

But Johnny Jumpup, however, as any one with half an 
eye, may discover from his portrait — an authentic likeness, 
now first published — is safe — certain of his distinction, from 
the very outset. He — Johnny — is not to be mistaken for 
anybody else — for, physically and longitudinally — by feet 
and by inches — he — Johnny — rises far above all cavil and 
all dispute. He looks down upon them with disdain. His 
elevation — Jumpup's — is not to be reached by others, unless 
recourse be had to a chair or to a pile of bricks. But Johnny 
is up already ; and there is no such thing as the getting of 
him down, unless he should be razeed, by a cannon-ball, of 
which, we think, there is no likelihood at present. 

As you may have had occasion to remark, the family of 
the Jumpups are none of your lowly-minded people, who 
feel and act as if they were intruders in the walks of men. 
Not at all — the Jumpups know they have as good a right 
to be here as anybody — they doubt, indeed, whether their 
right to be here is not a shade or two better than that of any- 
body with whom they are acquainted, having always, as Syl- 
vester Daggerwood quaintly expresses it, " a soul above but- 
tons ;" but as everybody else does not place them so far 
above buttons as they place themselves, the Jumpups pant 
for that distinction to which all must bow. The Jumpups 
thought of the making of money in the first instance, as per- 
haps the shortest cut to glory ; and it is of material assist- 
ance ; and so tliey toiled and they traded — bargRiiied, sold, 



64 NEAL^S SKETCHES. 

swopped, exclianged, and " chiselled," day in and day out, 
till Dame Fortune, finding herself so vehemently besieged, 
could resist no longer, and yielded herself to their persever- 
ing arms. Eldad Jumpup — the father of Johnny — eventu- 
ally become one of the richest men about — bowed to at the 
exchange — chairman of all sorts of meetings — heading sub- 
scriptions, and having a voice potential in mercantile and 
monetary affairs. But in this respect, others contrived at 
last to be as renowned as he — the name of Jumpup could 
not stand here alone, " grand, gloomy, and peculiar ;" and 
then Eldad Jumpup endeavored to attain originality by the 
effort to conjoin literature to commerce ; and he purchased 
a large assortment of books in exquisite binding — had his 
portrait painted, in a library — himself with pen in hand, 
thinking hard over a pile of octavoes, as if crammed with 
their contents, and endeavoring to give voice to the inspira- 
tion awakened. But there is a marvellous difference be- 
tween the buying of books and the reading of books — 
between the wish for literary laurel, and the processes of 
gathering the plant ; and Eldad Jumpup very often found 
himself awakened from unexpected slumber, there in the 
library, by the sonorous fall of the selected, volume from his 
unconscious hand, books proving rather soporific to one so 
long accustomed to stirring realities and active competitions. 

"Ho! ho!" cried Eldad, "this will never do. I'll hire 
some fellow to read these books for me, and make a division 
of the labor." 

So he had recourse in the next instance to what may be 
called the hospitalities — town-house, countiy-house, dinners, 
and so forth. But even then, people would contradict him at 
his own table, and talk of him as ** no great shakes," when 
he wanted to be " a great shakes" — what's the use of living, 
if you are not considerable of a " shakes" ] — they would so 
talk of him at the very moment when they were fattening 
their lean and withered frames with his viands and at his ex- 
pense. 



JOHNNY JUMPUP, 65 

But had he not Johnny 1 When his own hopes of being a 
peculiar and leading feature were thus foiled and so blighted, 
was there not Johnny ] What could be done to manufacture 
Johnny Jumpup into a gieat man ? — Johnny not being 
troubled with any traits different from common traits, except 
that as regards eating and sleeping he could do a larger busi- 
ness than any one else. In these regards Johnny was clever 

— undeniably. 

•' That boy's always asleep," observed Eldad, gravely ; 
" he shows no other genius now — can't sing — can't draw — 
won't talk — doesn't like to run about, and never made any- 
thing in his life — nothing but sleep. Extraordinary boy — 
sleeping so much must mean something, I'm sure of that 

— but what does it mean 1 I'd like to know. It's his genius, 
I guess, growing in his head while he's asleep — it don't want 
to be disturbed now, but by'm'by it will come out in a per- 
fect blaze of glory. If it don't, I'll turn him out as an im- 
postor. 

"And besides, now I think of it, when Johnny is not asleep, 
Johnny is always eating. That's wonderful, too — very won- 
derful. It's the genius — some sort of genius — getting into 
the stomach that makes Johnny so hungry — genius is always 
hungry, more or less ; because, you see, it wants nourish- 
ment. So, what between sleeping and eating, I don't see 
how Johnny Jumpup can very well fail of being a great man, 
because it's quite clear he doesn't waste any of his strength 
or trifle away any of his ideas — nobody ever gets an idea 
from Johnny — he's too cunning for that." 

All at once, Johnny's genius did make itself apparent ; 
and the real meaning of the phenomena of much eating and 
incessant sleeping, so strongly exhibited in his case, became 
obvious to the meanest capacity. His abilities took an up- 
ward direction, drawing him out, though Johnny said noth- 
ing on the subject himself — drawing him out, story after 
story, like a telescope or a portable fishing-rod. He ate, 
and he slept, and he grew — every week let out a new tuck 

5 



neal's sketches. 



from his trowsers, and his arms went a considerable distance 
through the sleeves of his jacket. There was no denying it, 
that Johnny was destined, in one way at least, to be a great 
man, and to be discovered easily in the thickest of the crowd 
So was it that the paternal desires were realized. Nobody 
else had such a Johnny. 

And now comes the delicate consideration as to whether 
in the main, it be best for us or not, that our wishes in regard 
to ourselves or our offspring should be realized. When we 
look into things with our philosophic eye alone, closing all 
other eyes, it will often be apparent that a supposed blessing 
is often a misfortune, and that it is, after all, better for us to 
be just as we are, rather than any other way. Admire the 
extent of Johnny Jumpup as much as you please — you that 
are brief and dumpy — we fear that Johnny could, if he would, 
tell a very different story about the matter. 

For instance, Johnny Jumpup is invariably in the way. 
•'Gracious alive! — do, Johnny, double yourself up, instead 
of poking your legs all over the room, to break people's 
necks." 

Long as he is, people are ever short with Johnny on the 
subject of his extensions, forgetting too, in their wrath at 
being unintentionally tripped, that Johnny " suffers some" in 
the process as well as they. 

"Oh, Johnny! you're only fit to hand things down from 
high shelves, or to look into second-story windows. They'd 
better hire you to light the lamps, or to whitewash ceilings." 

*' Oh, yes," says Johnny himself, " it's all very dignified 
and commanding, I've no doubt, to be stretched out this way, 
like a scaffold-pole or part of the magnetic telegraph; but 
that doesn't pay for the knocks I get on the head, or make 
the beds any longer. I can look down upon people, of 
course ; but what's that to having to keep curled up like a 
coil of rope more than half the time ] — It's entirely too much 
trouble to be a great man. Great men do well enough for 



JOHNNY JUMPUP. 67 

extraordinary occasions, but I'd rather be a common people 
for everyday wear; and I'm half inclined to wish that some- 
body v/ould take me in a little, or cut me off short. It's a 
deal of trouble to be always trying to make one's self small : 
for when I feel the smallest, it's just then that I'm the largest 
and the mDst in the way. I wish I was brother to Tom 
Thumb, It's every way cheaper and more convenient." 

Just so — who is content? — not Johnny Jumpup, with all 
his advantages ; and we have here another lesson to be al- 
ways as contented as possible with our lot. It is a doubt 
whether we could change it to any advantage, or whether, 
if we could have our children as we wish them, it would be 
of advantage either to them or to us. Remember Johnny 
Jumpup, who finds that this world, having been prepared foi 
people of the smaller extension, is ever at war with his com- 
forts. No one can tell how many of the swinging-lamps are 
destroyed by Johnny Jumpup, or how often his hat is swept 
from his brow by the awnings of the street. He dares not 
rise from his chair with precipitation, lest it prove that the 
ceiling is too low; and his phrenological faculties are literally 
beaten in by the concussions to which he is so unceasingly 
exposed. When he stops to shake hands with any one, he 
has a pain in his back from the stooping; and the boys shout 
after him in the street as " the man who is too long any- 
where." Jumpup is modest; yet Jumpup is made the target 
for jokes. People hail him as "the man in the steeple," to 
know where the fire is ; and many are the queries to learn 
of him what is the state of the weather up there. Poor 
Jumpup — ^ wearied and vexed, how is it possible for him to 
hide himself from sneering observation, or to avoid the pains 
and the penalties of being conspicuous ] 



68 neal's sketches. 



MR. KERR MUDGEON: 

OR, 'YOU WON'T, WON'T YOU." 

There ; now ! 

You see — do you not? — Nay, you may almost hear it, 
if you listen attentively. Mr. Kerr Mudgeon — great many 
of the Kerr Mudgeons about, in various places — but this 
Mr. Kerr Mudgeon — going to a party as he was — desirous 
too, as people generally are on such occasions, of looking 
particularly well — and all ready, to his own infinite satis- 
faction — all ready except the final operation of putting on 
his bettermost coat — has torn that important article of gen- 
tlemanly costume — one may work without a coat, you know, 
and work all the easier for the relief; but it is not altogether 
polite to leave it at home on a peg when you go to a party. 
Torn his coat — not through his own fault, as Mr. Kerr 
Mudgeon would tell you explicitly enough — he never is, 
never was, never can be, in fault — but because of that coat's 
ill-timed and provoking resistance to the operation of being 
donned. The coat might have known — who is ever thus to 
be trifled with in the process of dressing 1 Yes, the coat 
must have known. Ah, coats and the makers of coats 
have much to answer for. Kerr Mudgeon is ruffled, niffles 
of this sort, causing a man to look none the handsomer or 
the more amiable for the ruflfles. Such rufflles are not 
becoming. 

" Ho ! ho ! won't go on, hey ?" cried Mr. Kerr Mudgeon, 
and Mr. Kerr Mudgeon panted and Mr. Kerr Mudgeon 
blew, on the high-pressure principle, until the steam of his 
wrath had reached its highest point. 



II 




MB. KERR 



MPD.aEON; OB, "YOU won't, won't you."— ^00^ n, V^y^ 6^- 



MR. KERR MUDGEON. 69 

It is a fearful moment with the Ken- Mudgeons when it 18 
manifest that something must break — a blood-vessel or the 
furniture, or the peace of the commonwealth. Why will 
things animate and inanimate conspire to bring about such a 
crisis ? Kerr Mudgeons will be sweet tempered if you will 
only permit them. 

The coat positively refused to go on any further — the 
contumacious raiment. What could Kerr Mudgeon do in 
such a strait of perverse broadcloth ] 

" Tell me you won't go on," muttered Kerr Mudgeon, 
setting his teeth as a rifleman sets his trigger ; ** I'll make 
you go on, I will," shouted he. 

There's no such word as fail with Mr. Kerr Mudgeon. 
Something is sure to be done when he is once fairly roused 
to the work. It is a rule of his to combat like with like ; 
and so — and so — stamping his foot determinedly, and 
gathering all his forces for a grand demonstration against 
the obstinacy of tight sleeves, he carried his point as he pro- 
posed to carry it, by a rushing coup-de-main, to the material 
detriment of the fabric. — But what of that ] Was it not a 
victory for Kerr Mudgeon ? The coat had yielded to the 
force of his will ; and if the victory had been gained at cost, 
is it not always so with victories! — Glory — is that to be 
had for nothing? — No — depreciate the cost of glory, and 
pray tell me what becomes of glory ] — It is glory no longer. 
A luxury, to be a luxury, must be beyond the general reach 
' — too expensive for the millions — too costly for the masses. 

"And now — ha! ha! — ho! ho! — he! he! — come off !" 
shrieked* Mr. Kerr Mudgeon; "now you've done all the 
mischief you could, come off." Kerr Mudgeon divested him- 
self of the fractured, now humbled, peninent and discom- 
fited coat, and followed up his first success, like an able 
tactician, he danced in a transport of joy upon its mangled 
fragments and its melancholy remains. Ghastly moment of 
triumph o'er a foe. Alas ! Kerr Mudgeon, be merciful to the 

vanquished when incapacited for the war. 
19 



70 neal's sketches. 

But no — coolness comes not on the iiiSidnt — not to the 
Kerr Mudgeons. They have no relationship to the Kew 
Cumbers. They disdain the alliance ; and Mr. Kerr Mud- 
geon's coat had been conquered only — not punished. 

" That's what you get by being obstinate," added he, as 
he kicked the expiring coat about the room, knocking down 
a lamp, upsetting an inkstand, and doing sundry other minor 
pieces of mischief, all of which, of course, he charged to the 
account of the coat, as aforesaid. — it was coat's fault al- 
together. Mr. Kerr Mudgeon is not naturally in a passion. 
He would not have been in a passion had it not been for the 
coat — not he — the coat was the incendiary cause; and we 
trust that every coat, frock or body — sackcoat or any other 
of the infinite variety of coats now in existence, with all other 
coots that are to be, may take timely example and salutary 
warning from the doleful fate of Mr. Kerr Mudgeon's coat, 
that there may be no sewing of tares, and an exemption 
from rent. A coat is never improved by participation in 
battle. 

And this unhappy coat, which has thus fallen a victim to 
its incapacity to adapt itself to the form and pressure of cir- 
cumstances, is by no means a singular case in the experience 
of Mr. Kerr Mudgeon. We mention it rather as a symbol 
and as an emblem of the trials and vexations that ambuscade 
his way through life, to vex him at unguarded moments and 
shake him from his propriety. Boots, it will appear, have 
served him just so, particularly on a warm morning when 
unusual effort fevers one for the day. Did you see Kerr 
Mudgeon in a contest with his boots, when the leather, like 
a sturdy sentinel, refused ingress to Kerr Mudgeon's heel, 
and declared that there was ** no admission" to the premises, 
in despite of coaxings, of soap, and of the pulverizations of 
soap-stone 1 If you never saw that sight, you ought to see 
It, ])efore you shuffle off this mortal coil — indeed you ought, 
as Kerr Mudgeon toils and pants at the reluctant boots, in 
the vain effort " to grapple them to his sole with hooks of 



MR. KERR MUDGEON. 71 

Steel." Then it is most especially that a Kerr Mudgeon is 
'*loveli]y dreadful," like ocean in a storm. Whether salt- 
petre will explode or not, just set the Kerr Mudgeons at a 
tight boot, and you shall hear such explosions of tempestuous 
wralh as were never heard under other circumstances. The 
gun-cotton is like lambs-wool in comparison, as Kerr Mud- 
geon hops about in a state of betweenity, the boot half on, 
half off, declining either to go forward or to retreat. We 
pity that boot should Kerr Mudgeon find a failure to his deep 
intent. It has suffering in store — a species of storage which 
is never agreeable. 

Corks, too — did you ever dwell upon a Kerr Mudgeon 
endeavoring to extract a cork, without the mechanical ap- 
pliances of a screw 1 The getting out of corks with one's 
fingers is always more or less of a trial. There is donkeyism 
in corks ; and those that will yield a little, are generally 
sure to break. Concession, conciliation, and compromise, 
demand, under these circumstances, that if the cork will not 
come out, it should be made to go in, to employ the ingenuity 
of future ages in fishing it up with slipknots and nooses. But 
Kerr Mudgeon with a cork — he never, "Mr. Brown," can 
be prevailed upon to "give it up so;" not even if you find 
the cork-screw for him. Rather would he hurt his hand, 
loosen his teeth, break his penknife, or twist a fork into an 
invalid condition, than allow himself to be ingloriously baf- 
fled by the contemptible oppugnation and hostility of a cork 
and bottle, thirsty and impatient as he may be for the im- 
bibation of the contents thereof. If all else fail, Kerr Mud- 
geon enraged, and the bystanders in an agony of nervousness 
at the scene — "smack" goes the bottle's neck against a 
table, or "whack" over the back of a chair — " you won't, 
won't you !" — or in the more protracted and aggravating 
case, "smash !" goes the whole bottle to the wall; for the 
embellishment of paper hangings and the improvement of 
carpeting — Victoria ! 

Something is always the matter, too, with the bureau when 



72 neal'5 sketches. 

he would open or shut a drawer. Either it will not come 
out or it won't go in. That drawer must take the consequen- 
ces ; and doors — lucky are they to escape a fractured panel, 
if doors prove refractory, as doors sometimes will. Nobody 
can open a door so featly as a Kerr Mudgeon. 

** You won't, won't you !" and so he appeals to the ultima 
ratio regum — the last reasoning of kings — which means as 
many of thumps, cuffs, and kicks, as may be requisite to the 
purpose. It is a knock-down argument. 

Pooh ! pooh ! — how you talk of the efficacy of the soft 
answer in the turning away of wrath. Nonsense, Mr. 
George Combe, that wrath to the wrathful is only fuel to the 
flame. Mr. Kerr Mudgeon has no faith in passive resistance 
and in other doctrines of that sort. Smite his cheek, and 
then see what will come of the smitation. Go to him if you 
want " as good as you give," and you will be sure to obtain 
measure, exact, yea, and running over. 

And so Mr. Kerr Mudgeon has always a large stock of 
quarrel on hand, unsettled and neat as imported — feuds 
everywhere, to keep him warm in the winter season. A 
good hater is Mr. Kerr Mudgeon — a bramble-bush to 
scratch withal. 

** Try to impose on me," says Kerr Mudgeon, " I'd like 
to see 'em at it. They'll soon find I'm not afraid of any- 
body ;" and he therefore seeks to impress that fact with dis- 
tinctness on everybody's mind ; and, in consequence, if any- 
body has unexpended choler about him — a pet rage or so, 
pent up, or a latent exasperation — make him acquainted 
with Kerr Mudgeon, and observe the effect of the contact of 
such a spark as Mudgeon with an inflammable magazine. 
Should you find yourself peevish generally, and a little crusty 
or so, to those around you — primed, as it were, for conten- 
tion, should it be fairly offered, stop as you go to business, 
at Kerr Mudgeon's. He will accommodate you, aikd you 
will feel much better afterward, you will — " calm as a sum- 
mer morning," as the politicians have it. 



MR. KERR MUDGEON. 73 

Kerr Mudgeon rides ; and his horse must abide a liberal 
application of whip and spur, sometimes inducing it as a 
corollary, is a tumble to be regarded as a corollary from the 
saddle? — inducing it as a corollary, that KeiT Mudgeon 
must abide in the mire, with a fractured tibia or fibia, as the 
case may be. "You won't, won't you?" — and there are 
horses who won't when not able clearly to understand what 
is to be done. Now, the horse swerves, and Kerr Mudgeon 
takes the lateral slide. Again the steed bows — with polite- 
ness enough — and Kerr Mudgeon is a flying phenomenon 
over his head — gracefully, like a spread-eagle in a fit of en- 
thusiasm. When he is dovm he says he never gives up to a 
horse. 

Kerr Mudgeon delights also to quicken the paces of your 
lounging dog, by such abrupt and sharp appeal to the feel- 
ings of the animal as occasion may suggest ; and often there 
is an interchange of compliment, biped and quadrupedal, 
thus elicited, returning bites for blows, to square accounts 
between human attack and canine indignation. Some dogs 
do not appreciate graceful attentions and captivating endear- 
ments. ** Dogs are so revengeful," says Kerr Mudgeon. 
His dogs always run away ; " dogs are so ungrateful, too," 
quoth he. 

Unfortunate Kerr Mudgeon ! What is to become of him 
until the world is rendered more complaisant and acquiescent, 
prepared in all respects to go his way 1 

In the street, he takes the straightest line from place to 
place, having learnt from his schoolboy mathematics, that 
this is decidedly the shortest method of going from place to 
place. And yet, how people jostle him, first on the right 
hand, then on the left 1 Why do they not clear the track for 
Kerr Mudgeon 1 

Then at the postoffice, in the hour of delivery. 

Kerr Mudgeon wants his letters. What is more natural 
than that a man should want his letters 1 



74 neal's sketches. 

"Quit scrouging!" says somebody, as he knocks Mr. Kerr 
Mudgeon in the ribs with his elbow. 

" Wait for your turn !" cries somebody else, jostling Mr. 
Kerr Mudgeon on the opposite ribs. 

Still Kerr Mudgeon struggles through the press, resolved 
upon obtaining his letters before other people obtain their 
letters, having his feet trampled almost to a mummy, his 
garments disaiTanged, if not torn, and in addition to bruises, 
perhaps losing his fifty dollar breast-pin, to complete the 
harmony of the picture ; but still obtaining his letters in 
advance of his competitors — five minutes saved or there- 
abouts — what triumph ! what a victory ! To be sure, after 
such a struggle, Mr. Kerr Mudgeon consumes much more 
than the five minutes in putting himself to rights, and finds 
himself in a towering passion for an hour or two, besides 
groaning for a considerable length of time over his bruises 
and his losses, all of which might have been escaped by a 
few moments of patience. But then the victory — "you 
won*t, won't you ?" Was Kerr Mudgeon ever baffled by any 
species of resistance 1 Not he. 

" People are such brutes," says he ; " no more manners 
than so many pigs — try not to let me get my letters as soon 
as any of them, will they 1 I'll teach 'em that a KeiT Mud- 
geon is not to be trifled with — just as good a right to be 
first as anybody ; and I will be first, wherever; I go, cost 
what it may." 

We do not know that Kerr Mudgeon ever entered into a 
calculation as to the profit and loss of the operation of the 
rule that governed his life in intercourse with society. In- 
deed, we rather think not. But it is probable that in the 
long run, it costs as much as it comes to, if it does not cost 
a great deal more, thus to persist in having one's way in 
everything. In crossing the street now, when the black and 
fluent mire is particularly abundant, Mr. Kerr Mudgeon in- 
sists upon the flagstones — "as good a I'ight as anybody," 
pnd thus pushes others into a predicament unpleasant to 



MR. KERR MUDGEON. 75 

their boots and detrimental to their blackingj so that their 
understandings become clouded, as they lose all their polish. 
In general, such a course as this does very well — but it will 
sometimes happen, as it has happened, that two Kerr Mud- 
geons meet — the hardest fend off — and thus our Kerr Mud- 
geon is toppled full length into a bed much more soft than 
is altogether desirable, which vexes him. 

Did you, of a rainy day, ever see Kerr Mudgeon incline 
his umbrella to allow another umbrella to pass 1 We are 
sure you never did. Kerr Mudgeon's umbrella is as good 
as anybody's umbrella, and will maintain its dignity against 
all comers, though it has been torn to fragments by tiie sharp 
points of other umbrellas, which thought themselves quite 
as good as it could pretend to be — and so, Kerr Mudgeon 
got himself now and then into a fray, to say nothing of suits 
for assault and battery, gracefully and agreeably interspersed. 
Ho ! ho ! umbrellas ! — " you won't, won't you V 

Kerr Mudgeon walks with a cane — carries it horizontally 
under his arm, muddy at the ferule, perchance ; and canes 
thus disposed, come awkwardly in contact with the crossing 
currents of persons and costumes. But what does he care 
for the soiled garments of the ladies or the angry counte- 
nances of offended gentlemen 1 Is not Kerr Mudgeon with 
his cane, as good as anybody else and his cane 1 Horizontally 
— he will wear it so. That's his way. 

•* The world don't improve at all,"" cries Kerr Mudgeon. 
'* They may make speeches about it, and pass resolutions 
by the bushel ; but it is my opinion that it grows obstinater 
and obstinater every day. It never yields an inch, and a 
man has to push, and to scramble, and to fight for ever to 
make any headway for himself — black and blue more than 
half the time. Every day shoots up all over rumpuses and 
rowses. But, never mind — the world needn't flatter itself 
that it's a going to conquer Kerr Mudgeon and put him 
down too, as it does other people. Kerr Mudgeon knows 
Ms rights — Kerr Mudgeon is as good as anybody else. Kerr 



76 neal's sketches. 

Mudofeon will fio:ht till he dies. He was never made to 
yield, so long as his name is KeiT Mudgeon. It's a good 
name — never disgraced by movements of the knuckle-down 
character, and I am determined to caiTy on the war just as 
all the Mudgreons did that went before me. If a horse kicks 
me, I'll kick him back ; and I wouldn't get out of the way, 
like Mr. Daniel Tucker in the song, if a thirty-two pound 
shot was coming up the street, or a locomotive was a 
whizzin' down the road. Stand up straight — that's my 
motto. Give 'em as good as they can bring; that's the 
doctrine ; and while a single bit of Kerr Mudgeon remains 
— while any of his bones hang together, that's him squaring 
off right in the centre of the track, ready for you, with his 
coat buttoned up and a fist in each of his hands." 

Kerr Mudgeon's face is settled grimly into the aspect of 
habitual defiance. His brows are for ever knitting, not socks 
or mittens, but frowns, and his mouth is knotted like a rope. 
When he looks around, it seems to be an inquiry as to 
whether any gentleman present is disposed to pugilistic en- 
counter — if so, he can be accommodated; and the whole 
disposition of his garments indicates contention — war to 
the knife. 

Kerr Mudgeon complains that he has no friends, and is 
beginning to stand solitary and alone, with but a dreary 
prospect before him, in a world that grows ** obstinater and 
obstinater every day ;" and he has yet to learn, if such learn- 
ing should ever penetrate through the armor of hostility 
wherewith he is begirt, that perhaps, if we desire to have a 
smooth and easy time of it, we must ourselves begin by be- 
ing smooth and easy. The belligerent ever meets with bel- 
ligerents. There's no difficulty about that. There is a 
sufficiency of war in every atmosphere, if you are disposed 
to condense it upon yourself; and no one eager to enjoy the 
pleasure, need wander far in search of quarrels. Kerr Mud- 
geon finds them everywhere — "rumpuses and rowses" — 
But it is a shrewd doubt whether one's general comfort is 



41 



MR. KERR MUDGEON. 77 

greatly promoted by the aggravation of rudeness. It Is easier 
to bend a little to inclement blasts, than to be snapped oft' 
by perpendicular resistance — easier to go round an obstacle 
than to destroy your temper, and your clothing, in the ex- 
hausting effort to clamber over it, and it may be said of 
every quarrel in which Kerr-Mudgeonism is engaged, that 
probably both parties are at fault, though Kerr-Mudgeonism 
is, in all likelihood, the responsible party. 

Yet " you won't, won't you 1" is a great temptation to com- 
bativeness and destructiveness. Is it not, all ye people of 
the KeiT-Mudgeon temperament ? 



78 neal's sketches 



A BORE, IN CHARCOAL. 

That's a Bore ! 

Everybody has heard of bores — of an immense bore — an 
intolerable bore, or an excruciating bore. The majority of 
mankind do not require to be told what constitutes a bore. 
The enlightenment of daily experience is sufficient for the 
purpose. They learn by dint of sufferings, which, at school 
and elsewhere — flogging it in — has long been regarded as 
the best method of disseminating intelligence and of making 
people smart. We, therefore, content ourselves with re- 
peating — 

That's a bore ! 

Not from the forest of Ardennes — quadrupedal and por- 
cine. It is neither Mirabeau nor William de la Marck — 
nor yet is it a personal likeness, representative of each exist- 
ing bore, or of all the varieties of bore. Portraiture so com- 
prehensive is impossible. Regard it rather as the ideal of 
Cruikshank — a type and a symbol, having reference to bores 
at large — to "General Bore," of the combined forces, if we 
may be permitted to furnish an available title to the fanciful 
embodiment. We have, in truth, before us, a sketch of uni- 
versal boredom, condensed into a form, that when we speak 
of bores, the whole matter may present itself, physically, to 
the eye. So — 

That's a bore ! 

A modern bore — descended possibly from the Roman 
augurs, who bored in classic times. But, leaving the his- 
torical and genealogical question to more learned arbitra- 



A BORE, IN CHARCOAL. 79 

ment, it can not be disputed that the bore is of an ancient 
race, perforating, as it were, in days beyond the flood, and 
having now the whole earth as an inheritance. Such multi- 
tudes of bores — and then so unkindly, too — unfilial and un- 
nankful. Was there ever bore — we do not believe it — a 
jore, but of the lesser sort — a gimlet, simply — who could 
be prevailed upon to acknowledge (candidly and honestly, 
and with no blush of shame at the relationship) that he was 
a downright bore, or anything of a bore 1 Never. Though 
the fact that he is a bore be apparent as the sun at noonday, 
still will he insist upon it — boring all the while, most likely 
— that he is not now, that he never has been, that he never 
can be, and never will be, a bore — as if, zoologically speak- 
ing, a decided bore, born a bore and educated a bore, could 
very well help being a bore. Bristle as he may, to be so ac- 
cused, yet he must be a bore ; and the best he can do, if 
there can be a best to the worst, is to cherish ambition in his 
calling, to place it beyond the reach of controversy that 
Linkum Fidelius is a tremendous bore — superlative — equal 
to Brunei and the tunnel of the Thames. 

But as the annals of confession afford no instance of plead- 
ing guilty to a snore — nobody snores; though the s'norous 
resonance may keep the watch from sleeping — so the pe- 
culiarity of boring is broadly denied by its most persevering 
practitioners. It is professed by none except by those who 
bore the earth for Artesian wells, and by those who bore 
their bills through whole houses of legislation. 

Nevertheless, gentle reader, smile not too securely in scorn 
of bores. What if it should be said that you are a bore — 
that we are a bore — that all of us — everything and every- 
body — are bores inevitably, at certain times and at certain 
seasons. It is melancholy, but it is true, that be as amiable 
and as fascinating as possibility will allow — and who more 
delightful than yourself, or than ourself, when we choose to 
set about it] — still, it is not to be disputed that there are 
occasions when people — they, perchance, that love us best at 



80 neal's sketches. 

other moments — will regard us both as bores — tiresomely, 
and with a yawn — "Good gracious, what a bore ; or again, 
querulous and fretful — "A shocking bore !" It has been so, 
in word and in thought, has it not, with you 1 And there 
are no exceptions to the rule, flatter yourself never so 
much. 

It is hydropathic, we must admit — Priessnitz, Graefen 
berg, and all that sort of aquatic treatment, thus to be sluiced, 
spiritually, with cold water, by hearing such outcry as we 
close the door, or to read such thought — the board have an 
expression — in neighbor faces as we rise to go. After all 
our efforts — after this deal of trouble in what we regard as 
our irresistible style of conversational operation — after so 
much care in costume (did we ever look so well 1) — so much 
grace in attitude, moreover — topics, besides, so judiciously 
selected, and we so full of wit and poignancy ; and then to 
discover — worse than annihilation! — that it is boringr we 
have been, from first to last ! — and that while we proudly 
hoped to gain all hearts, people were inquiring of themselves 
" when will he go V* coupled with unexpressed desires that 
you were in safe deposite at " Jericho," or borne away to a 
further remoteness. From this, observe ye, the uninitiated 
may understand what is meant by a ** sinking in poetry." 
It is bathos realized and brought home in the utilitarian 
sense. To speak of " feeling flat," is descriptive enough of 
what humanity endures at an ordinary ** flash in the pan." 
When a joke snaps, and people sit in dismayed silence at 
your inexplicable audacity — ** what did he mean ]" — while 
your cheeks are tingling — or when young gentlemen break 
down suddenly in an eff'ort at dashing ease and elegance — 
flatness is frequent and familiar; but to be thus hurled from 
the topmost summit of complacent self-esteem, is a Tarpeian 
fall that makes a hollow in the ground, depressing far beyond 
the flat. 

But grumble not — these are results which are not always 
to be avoided. The best of people, beaming in beauty or 



A BORE, IN CHARCOAL. 81 

sparkling with wit — even our friendships, and not excluding 
loves — yea, more attractive than all these, in the preference 
yielded to indispensables over the luxuries of existence — 
the very call to dinner, tap, tap, in the midst of our employ- 
ment — if coming at the unpropitious time — are bores, just 
then. Who are not bores, when gentlemen have some- 
thing else to do, or when the lady is surprised in ** wrap- 
])ers" — when you wish to dress, or have engagements more 
attractive 1 

Be content. There is no complete emancipation from 
boredom — from boring, or from being bored ; and our wis- 
dom teaches to balance one against the other, submitting 
patiently ; or, in a more revengeful spirit, setting forth re- 
lentless, to inflict on others the same species of calamity that 
has been administered to you. 

It is well, however, to refine perception, so that it may be 
discovered in the features of the sufferers — you could not 
well feel pulses — when they have had as much as consti- 
tution will enable them to bear. Note their writhings, and 
be as merciful as can be afforded. It is economic, also : 
people once bored to death are beyond reach, to be bored 
no more ; but if allowed to escape before complete inanition 
is induced, one may call again to-morrow, to practise on the 
victim. Note when the " boree" fidgets in its chair, playing 
with books or twiddling with its darling little thumbs — ad- 
justing lights which do not need adjustment — vague in an- 
swer, or abstract in look — with remarks apart, which bear 
not on the question — with awful pause, spasmodically bro- 
ken by " How's your uncle, or your aunt?" or, ** When did 
you see Jones ?" — when it comes to this — there! — you'd 
better go — it is " suffigeance" now; and it maybe homi- 
cide, if more protracted. It is folly when such discoveries 
are made — that boredom has reached its climax — to sit 
hour after hour in nervous meditation on retreat, as you have, 
yet fearing the attempt, as you often do. Vanish, gracefully 
or disgracefully. *' Stand not," as Lady Macbeth judiciously 

6 



82 neal's sketches. 

remarked, when bored that her husband misbehaved before 
the tea-party — " stand not on the order of your going, but 
go at once." It is useless — who has not tried it? — to wait 
until incident occurs to afford facility for retirement, unless 
there is boldness enough to elbow something over that will 
break. Nor can reliance for a start be placed on any but 
ourselves ; for how often is it found that each is waiting for 
the other, and that a single move dissolves the whole array ? 
In vain — the boys, vociferous enough at other times, are not 
disposed to raise alarms of fire for your accommooation; a»id 
we do not know that earthquakes come by wishing foi a 
shock. 

When thoughts like these are springing to the mii^d, 
it admits not of question — we are bonng terribly; and if 
no better way suggests itself, it is wise to faint at once, that 
we may be carried out — the open air will do us good. Set 
it in a note-book, that whenever it is felt that our chair and 
ourselves are becoming one and indivisible — that we would 
rejoice to escape if we had hardihood for the deed, but that 
escape becomes more awkward and impracticable as the 
time wears on, then are we bores upon the larger scale, fit to 
be used in pump construction. Then, should our literary 
researches be confined to Xenophon and the retreat of the 
ten thousand, or to the study of Moreau in the Black forest. 
How got the French away from Moscow? 

But not to drive any one to despair as an irremediable 
bore — we should regret to hear of an unusual recourse to 
pistols, cord, or poisons, following close upon the promulga- 
tion of this boring article — not then to induce summary 
methods of shuffling coils, with smooth bore or with rifle, 
it affords pleasure to add that there is hope of redemption 
for those who are yet capable of feeling the sensations which 
we have thus imperfectly attempted to describe. They are 
accidental bores — involuntary — and without malice pre- 
pense. They have compunctious visitings afterward — they 
call themselves hard names — dolt, perhaps, or booby — in 



A BORE, I5f CHARCOAL. 83 

returning home — -"how could IV — and in disrobing them 
for bed, each silliness, real or supposed, that they may have 
uttered — each folly of excitement — each platitude — ver- 
ging on the green, or tending to the soft — that has been per- 
petrated, rises up remorseful — spectre-like and in gigantic 
exnggeration — to self-accusing eyes. — If we had not said 
this, or if we had not done that — if we had retired in only 
tolerable time, or could have comprehended the suppressed 
irony tjiat induced us "not to be in a hurry," when it had 
already been proved, to a very great extent, that we were 
not in a hurry, by any manner of means. The gapings, too 
— checked, but yet perceptible — unnoticed, but remem- 
bered — how well we understand them now ! — '* Alas, sfos- 
ling, goose, and gander, that I am, to have taken compliment 
for reality, and to have * walked in, won't you,' when 'walk 
off"' was the true translation of the phrase !" and Borem 
buries his head in the pillow, as if it were possible when 
bored by one's self — the worst of all possible bores — to 
get rid of one's self, by any practicable process. 

To such as these, as before announced, there is hope of 
redemption. But what may be called the "Bore Proper" — • 
the bore ingrain — he who does it a purpose, and, as ' it 
were, makes a living at it, thinking that the world rejoices 
in him and would not have it otherwise, he is fit only for the 
Hospital of Incurables, and must be given up. 

But now let us make inquiries, on the score of humanity 
p'^d benevolence, as to 

Who bores 1 

What bores 1 

The one idea is exceedingly apt to bore — a single bar- 
relled bore shoots close — as, for instance, when you see 
him coming, and know to an exactitude the very thing he 
will talk about, endeavoring, for the hundredth time, to afford 
enlightenment on a subject we already understand, or rela- 
tive to which we care not the value of a button. That's a 
bore, aa it ambuscades us in the street, or trenches upon 



84 neal's sketches. 

time intended for other purposes. It is prudent, therefore, 
to be chary and watchful of your one idea. However im- 
portant it may seem to its possessor, other folks may have a 
different bias, and are not likely to desire to trot far upon any 
hobby-horse but their own; and so philosophers, politicians, 
philanthropists, inventors, speculators, and innovators, of 
every description and degree, are all given more or less to 
boring. And though politeness may seem to feel an interest, 
it is a fair presumption, more than half the time, that po- 
liteness is not to be believed. We are obliged to politeness 
always, for its sacrifices, but have little faith in its complai- 
sance. It may say "bore," when we are gone — it does so 
generally. 

Self — how delicious to chatter of one's self! — delicious, 
but full of danger — -self, then, as a theme for speeches, is, in 
the most of cases, quite boreal — hyperboreal — other selves 
being present, each one of which prefers itself to every other 
self, and only listens to yourself, that, on the reciprocity 
principle, it may afterward be permitted to talk of itself. 
Try to remember that all these people round about, are 
selves of their own, complete and perfect in their individu- 
ality, and that as they are to you, so are you to them — sim- 
ply an external circumstance — a shadow and an accident. 
If you catch yourself talking of yourself, recollect youi'self 
before you commit yourself, and ask yourself how you would 
like it, if yourself were bored after this fashion. It is hard, 
undoubtedly ; but it is necessary to learn how to put your- 
self in your pocket. 

"The shop" — mind the shop — is assuredly a bore, if 
much of the shop be offered. We all have shops, of one 
kind or of another, which, in the main, is quite enough; and 
few there are who care much to be indoctrinated with the 
particulars of the circumjacent shops. When leaving the 
shop, then, let us be sure that all ajipertaining to the shop 
is also left. In society, the gentleman — and not to be a 
bore is essential to that coveted character — is one who vol- 



A BORE, IN CHARCOAL. 85 

unteers no evidence of his avocation. He talks not of bul- 
locks — prates not of physic or of surgery — refrains from 
cotton, and leaves his stocks in the money-market, except 
briefly and in reply to question — and for the plain reason 
that he is aware that others have shops — that they love iheir 
shops as much as he loves his shop, and that if shops are to 
be lugged in, why not their shops as well as his shop 1 — 
"While thus " sinking the shop," it may be taken rather as 
an ill compliment to be questioned much about the shop, 
there being reason to suspect that an imagination exists that 
you can talk of nothing else but the shop. Think of it by 
day — dream of it, if you will, by night — and above all, 
attend to it industriously ; but do not take it with you into 
other people's houses. 

We might perhaps keep boring on, like Signor Benedict, 
who would still be talking — that was a bore — when nobody 
heeded him — for these general charges admit of minute 
specification. We could speak of invalid bores, who find 
delight in the recapitulation of sufferings ; who dote on the 
doctor, and who bore for sympathy when there is none to 
spare, and as if none were hurt but them — of melancholy 
bores, who seek to draw a funeral veil across the joyous day 

— of misanthropic bores, who sulk and groan — of argumen- 
tative bores — combative and disputatious — who can not 
acquiesce, and must contest each point, in a war of posts, with 
armor ever on — of literary bores, who lend you books, and 
after catechize, to see that you have read them — be sure at 
least to cut the leaves before you send the volume back — 

— of oratorical bores, who practise speeches and grind logic 

on you — of the bore critical, who would better all things, 

and of the bore grammatical, who parses what you say — of 

bores too formal and the bore familiar. But it all resolves 

itself to this — that he who talks only to please himself, like 

him who sings or whistles at your elbow, m tending boreward, 

engrossed in his own gratification, and that the truly kind 

and considerate are not apt to bore, except by accident. A 
20 



86 neal's sketches. 

little thought, and they will know what to talk about, and 
when to leave off talking; while the opinionated and the 
selfish will persist in boring — for they lack perception and 
benevolence ; and perhaps, as a general rule, it may be set 
down, paradoxically, and differing from guns, that 

The greatest bores have the smallest calibre. 



II 



LOOK AT THE CLOCK. 87 



LOOK AT THE CLOCK: 

OR, A PRETTY TIME OF NIGHT. 

"Tinkle!" 

There are people, of the imaginative sort, who undertake 
to judge of people's character from people's hand of write, 
pretending to obtain glimpses of the individual's distinctive 
traits through the rectilinear and curvilinear processes of 
that individual's pen ; and we shall not, for ** our own poor 
part," undertake to deny that ** idiosyncracy," meaning 
thereby the mental and physical peculiarities of our nature, 
may be discoverable in whatever we do, if there were wit 
enough to find it out. We are probably pervaded by a style 
as much our own and none of our neighbor's, as the style 
of our nose, making each man, each woman, and each child, 
himself, herself, and itself, alone; and perhaps the time may 
come, if it be not here already, when the wise ones — profes- 
sors and so forth — will be able to discover from a glimpse 
of our thumbs, what we are likely to prefer for dinner. In- 
deed, we know it to be theoretical in certain schools — in 
the kitchen, for instance, which is the most orthodox and 
sensible of the schools — that, as a general rule, the leading 
features of character are indicated by the mode in which we 
pull a bell, and that, to a considerable extent, we may infer 
the kind of person who is at the door — just as we do the 
kind of fish that bobs the cork — by the species of vibration 
which is given to the wire. Rash, impetuous, choleric, and 
destructive, what chance has the poor little bell in such 
hands 1 But the considerate, modest, lowly, and retiring — 
do you ever know such people to break things ] Depend 



S8 neal's sketches. 

upon it, too, that our self-estimate is largely indicated by our 
conduct in this respect. If it does not betray what we really 
are, it most assuredly discloses the temper of the mind at 
the moment of our ringing. 

"Tinkle!" 

Did you hear] 

Nothing could be more amiable or unobtrusive than that. 
It would scarcely disturb the nervous system of a mouse ; 
and whoever listened to it, might at once understand that it 
was the soft tintinnabulary whisper of a gentleman of the 
convivial turn and of the *' locked out" description, who, 
conscious probably of default, is desirous of being admitted 
to his domiciliary comforts upon the most pacific and silent 
terms that can be obtained from those who hold the citadel 
and possess the inside of the door. 

" Tinkle !" 

Who can doubt that he — Mr. Tinkle — would take off his 
boots and go up stairs in his stocking-feet, muttering rebuke 
to every step that creaked ] What a deprecating mildness 
there is in the deportment of the " great locked out !" How 
gently do they tap, and how softly do they ring ; while, per- 
chance, in due proportion to their enjoyment in untimely and 
protracted revel, is the penitential aspect of their return. 
There is a " never-do-so-any-more-ishness " all about them — 
yea — even about the bully boys ** who wouldn't go home 
till morning — till daylight does appear," singing up to the 
very door; and when they 

" Tinkle !" 

It is intended as a hint merely and not as a broad an- 
nunciation — insinuated — not proclaimed aloud — that some- 
body who is very sorry — who " didn't go to help it," and 
all that — is at the threshold, and that if it be the same to 
you, he would be exceeding glad to come in, with as little 
of scolding and rebuke as may be thought likely to answer 
the purpose. There is a hope in it — a subdued hope— • 

"Tinkle!'' 



LOOK AT THE CLOCK. 89 

— that perchance a member of the family — good-natured 
as well as insomnolent— may be spontaneously awake, and 
disposed to open the door without clamoring up Malcolm, 
Donalbain, and the whole house. Why should every one 
know] But — 

"Tinkle— tankle!!" 

Even patience itself— on a damp, chilly, unwholesome 
night — patience at the street-door, all alone by itself and 
disposed to slumber — as patience is apt to be after patience 
has been partaking of potations and of collations — even pa- 
tience itself can not be expected to remain tinkling there 

"pianissimo" — hour after hour, as if there were nothing 
else in this world worthy of attention but the ringing of 
bells. Who can be surprised that patience at last becomes 
reckless and desperate, let the consequences — rhinoceroses 
or Hyrcan tigers — assume what shape they may ] 

There is a furious stampede upon the marble — a fierce 
word or two of scathing Saxon, and then — 

" Rangle— ja-a-a-ngle — ra-a-a-ng ! ! !" the sound be- 
ing of that sharp, stinging, excruciating kind, which leads 
to the conclusion that somebody is "worse" and is getting 
in a rage. 

That one, let me tell you, was Mr. Dawson Dawdle, in 
whom wrath had surmounted discretion, and who, as a for- 
lorn hope, had now determined to make good his entrance 
— assault, storm, escalade — at any hazard and at any cost. 
Dawson Dawdle was furious now — "savagerous" — as you 
have been, probably, when kept at the door till your teeth 
rattled like castinets and cachuchas. 

Passion is picturesque in attitude, as well as poetic in ex- 
pression. Dawson Dawdle braced his feet one on each side 
of the door-post, as a purchase, and tugged at the bell with 
both hands, until windows flew up in all directions, and 
nightcapped heads, in curious variety, were projected into 
the gloom. Something seemed to be the matter at Dawdle's. 
"Who's sick?" cried ,mf 



90 neal's sketches. 

" Whereas the fire]" asked another. 

"The Mexicans are come !" shouted a third. But Daw 
son Dawdle had reached that state of intensity which ia 
regardless of every consideration but that of the business in 
hand, and he continued to pull away, as if at work by the 
job, while several observing watchmen stood by in admira- 
tion of his zeal. Yet there was no answer to this pealing 
appeal for admittance — not that Mrs. Dawson Dawdle was 
deaf — not she — nor dumb either. Nay, she had recognised 
Mr. Dawdle's returning step — that husband's "foot," which 
should, according to the poet — 

" Have music in't 
As he comes up the stair." 

But Dawdle was allowed to make his music in the street, 
while his wife, obdurate, listened with a smile bordering, we 
fear, a little upon exultation, at his progressive lessons and 
rapid improvements in the art of ringing " triple-bob- 
majors." 

"Let him wait," remarked Mrs. Dawson Dawdle; "let 
him wait — 'twill do him good. I'm sure I've been waiting 
lonof enoufjh for him." 

And so she had; but, though there be a doubt whether 
this process of waiting had "done good" in her own. case, 
yet if there be truth or justice in the vengeful practice which 
would have us act toward others precisely as they deport 
themselves to us — and every one concedes that it is ver} 
agreeable, however wrong, to carry on the war after thi. 
fashion — Mrs. Dawson Dawdle could have little difficulty' 
in justifying herself for the course adopted. 

Only to think of it, now. 

Mrs. Dawson Dawdle is one of those natural and prop6 
people who become sleepy of evenings, and who are ratha 
apt to yawn after tea. Mr. Dawson Dawdle, on the oth« ' 
hand, is of the unnatural and imj^roper species, who are mj^. 
sleepy or yawny of evenings — never so, except of mornings. 
Dawson insists on it, that he is no chicken to go to roost at 



LOOK AT THE CLOCK. 91 

sundown ; while Mrs. Dawson Dawdle rises with the lark. 
The larks he prefers, are larks at night. Now, as a correct- 
ive to these differences of opinion, Dawson Dawdle had 
been cunningly deprived of his pass-key, that he might be 
induced " to remember not to forget" to come home betimes 

— a thing he was not apt to remember, especially if good 
companionship intervened. 

Thus, Mrs. Dawdle was " waiting up" for him. 
****** 

To indulge in an episode here, apropos to the general 
principle involved, it may be said, pertinently enough, that 
this matter of waiting, if you have nerves — ** waiting up," 
or " waiting down," choose either branch of the dilemma — 
is not to be ranged under the head of popular amusements, 
or classified in the category of enlivening recreation. To 
^ait — who has not waited] — fix it as we will — is always 
more or less of a trial ; and whether the arrangement be for 
" waiting up" — disdainful of sleep — or for ** waiting down" 

— covetous of dozes — it rarely happens that the intervals 
are employed in the invocation of other than left-handed 
blessings, on the head of those who have caused this devia- 
tion from comfortable routine ; or that, on their tardy arrival 

— people conscious of being waited for, always stay out as 
long and as provokingly as they can — we find ourselves at 
all disposed to amiable converse, or complimentary ex- 
pression. 

And reason good. If we lie down, for instance, when my 
young lady has gone to a " polka party," or my young gen- 
tleman has travelled away to an affair of the convivialities, 
do we ever find it conducive to refreshing repose, this awk- 
ward consciousness, overpending like the sword of Damocles, 
that sooner or later the disturbance must come, to call us 
startingly from dreams ? Nor afler we have tossed and 
tumbled into a lethargy, is it to be set down as a pleasure to 
be aroused, all stupid and perplexed, to scramble down the 
stairway for the admission of delinquents, who — the fact 



92 neal's sketches. 

admits of no exception — nng, ring, ring, or knock, knock, 
knock away, long after you have heard them, and persist in 
goading you to phrensies, by peal upon peal, when your very 
neck is endangered by rapidity of movement in their behalf. 
It is a lucky thing for them when they so ungratefully ask, 
** why you didn't make haste," as they always do, or mutter 
about being *' kept there all night," as they surely will, that 
despotic powers are unknown in these regions, and that you 
are not invested with supreme command. But now get thee 
to sleep again, as quickly as thou canst, though it may be 
that the task is not the easiest in the world. 

*' Waiting up," too, this likewise has its delectations. The 
very clock seems at last to have entered into the conspiracy 
— the hands move with sluggish weariness, and there is a 
laggard sound in the swinging of the pendulum, which almost 
says that time itself is tired, as it ticks its progress to the 
drowsy ear. There is a bustle in the street, no doubt, as you 
Bit down doggedly to wakefulness : and many feet are pat- 
tering from theatre and circus. For a time the lau^h is 
heard, and people chatter as they pass, boy calling unto boy, 
or deep-mouthed men humming an untuned song. Now 
doors are slammed, and shutters closed, and bolts are shoot- 
ing, in earnest of retirements for the night. Forsaken dogs 
bark round and round the house, and vocal cats beset the 
portico. The rumbling of the hack dwindles in the distance, 
as the cabs roll by from steamboat wharf and railroad depot. 
You are deserted and alone — tired of book, sated with news- 
paper, indisposed to thought. You nod — ha! ha! — bibetty 
bobetty! — as your hair smokes and crackles in the lamp. 
But it is folly now to peep forth. Will they never come 1 
No — do they ever, until all reasonable patience is exhausted ] 
Yes — here they are! — pshaw! — sit thee still — it is but a 
straggling step ; and hour drags after hour, until you have 
resolved it o'er and o'er again, that this shall be the last or 
your vigils, let who will request it as a favor, that you will 
be good enough to sit up for ihem. I wouldn't do it. 



LOOK AT THE CLOCK. 93 

So it Is not at all to be marvelled at that Mrs. Dawson 
Dawdle — disposed, as we know her to be, to sleepiness at 
times appropriate to sleep — was irate at the nonappearance 
of Mr. Dawson Dawdle, or that, after he had reached home, 
she detained him vengefully at the street-door, as an example 
to such dilatoriness in general, for it is a prevailing fault in 
husbandry, and that, in particular, being thus kept out con- 
siderably longer than he wished to keep out — too much of a 
good thing being good for nothing — he mij^:\t be taught 
better, on the doctrine of curing an evil by aggravation — 
both were aggravated. 

But the difficulty presents itself here, that Mr. Dawson 
Dawdle has a constitutional defect, beyond reach of the 
range of ordinary remedial agents. Being locked out, is 
curative to some people, for at least a time — till they forget 
it, mostly. But Dawson Dawdle is the man who is always 
too late — he must be too late — he would not know himself 
if he were not too late — it would not be he, if he were not 
too late. Too late is to him a matter of course — a fixed re- 
sult in his nature. He had heard of ** soon," and he believed 
that perhaps there might occasionally be something of the 
sort — spasmodic and accidental — but, for his own part, he 
had never been there himself. And as for " too soon," he 
regarded it as imaginative altogether — an incredibility. 
The presumption is, that he must have been born an hour 
or so too late, and that he had never been able to make up 
the difference. In fact, Dawson Dawdle is a man to be re- 
lied on — no mistake as to Dawson Dawdle. Whenever he 
makes an appointment, you are sure he will not keep it, 
which saves a deal of trouble on your side of the question ; 
and at the best, if an early hour be set, any time will answer 
in the latter part of the day. Dawson Dawdle forgets, too : 
how complimentary it is to be told that engagements in which 
we are involved are so readily forgotten ! Leave it to the 
Dawdles to forget ; and never double the affront by an ex- 
cuse that transcends the original offence. Or else Dawson 



94 neal's sketches. 

Dawdle did not know it was so late ; and yet Dawson might 
have been sure of it. When was it otherwise than late with 
the late Mr. Dawson Dawdle ] 

** Well," said he, at the bell-handle all this time, " well, 
I suppose it's late again — it rings as if it was late; and 
somehow or other, it appears to me that it always is late, 
especially and particularly when my wife tells me to be sure 
to be home early — * you, Dawson, come back soon, d'ye 
hear?' and all that sort o' thing. I wish she wouldn't — i« 
puts me out, to keep telling me what I ought to do ; and 
when I have to remember to come home early, it makes me 
forget all about it, and discomboberates my ideas so that 
I'm a great deal later than I would be if I was left to my 
own sagacity. Let me alone, and I'm great upon sagacity ; 
but yet what is sagacity when it has no key and the dead- 
latch is down 1 What chance has sagacity got when sagaci- 
ty's wife won't let sagacity in 1 I'll have another pull at the 
bell — exercise is good for one's health." 

This last peal — as peals, under such circumstances, are 
apt to be — was louder, more sonorous, and in all respects 
more terrific, than any of its ** illustrious predecessors," 
practice in this respect tending to the improvement of skill 
on the one hand, just as its adds provocation to temper on 
the other. For a moment, the fate of Dawson Dawdle 
quivered in the scale, as the eye of his exasperated lady 
glanced fearfully round the room for a means of retaliation 
and redress. Nay, her hand rested for an instant upon a 
pitcher, while thoughts of hydropathies, douches, shower- 
baths, Graefenbergs, and Priessnitzes, in their medicinal 
application to dilatory husbands, presented themselves in 
quick aquatic succession like the rushings of a cataract. 
Never did man come nearer to being drowned than Mr. 
Dawson Dawdle. 

"But no," said she, relenting; "if he were to ketch his 
death o' cold, he'd be a great deal more trouble than he is 
now — husbands with bad colds — coughing husbands and 



LOOK AT THE CLOCK. 



95 



sneezing husbands — are the stupidest and tiresomest kind 
of husbands — bad as they may be, ducking don't improve 
'em. I'll have recourse to moral suasion; and if that won't 
answer, I'll duck him afterward." 

Suddenly and in the midstof a protracted jangle, the door 
flew widely open, and displayed the form of Mrs. Dawson 
Dawdle, standing sublime — silent— statuesque — wrapped 
in wrath and enveloped in taciturnity. Dawdle was appalled. 

"My dear !" and his hand dropped nervelessly from the 
oell-handle, "my dear, it's me — only me." 

Not a word of response to the tender appeal — the lady 
remained obdurate in silence — chilly and voiceless as the 
marble, with her eyes sternly fixed upon the intruder. Daw- 
son Dawdle felt himself running down. 

" My dear— he ! he !" and Dawson laughed with a melan- 
choly quaver— "it's me that's come home — you know me 

— it's late, I confess — it's most always late— and I — ho! 
ho '. — why don't you say something, Mrs. Dawson Dawdle 1 

— Do you think I'm going to be skeered, Mrs. Dawdle 1" ^ 
As the parties thus confi-onted each other, Mrs. Dawdle's 

" masterly inactivity" proved overwhelming. For reproaches, 
Dawson was prepared — he could bear part in a war of opin- 
ion— the squabble is easy to most of us— but where are we 
when the antagonise will not deign to speak, and environs 
us, as it were, in an ambuscade, so that we fear the more be- 
cause we know not what to fear ] 

« Why don't she blow me up ]" queried Dawdle to him- 
self, as he found his valor collapsing — "why don't she blow 
me up like an affectionate woman and a loving wife, instead 
of standing there in that ghostified fashion?" 

Mrs. Dawdle's hand slowly extended itself toward the 
culprit, who made no attempt at evasion or defence— slow 
ly it entwined itself in the folds of his neck-handkerchief, 
and, as the unresisting Dawson had strange fancies relative 
to bow-strings, he found himself drawn inward by a sure 
and steady grasp. Swiftly was he sped through the dark- 



96 neal's sketches. 

some entry and up tlie winding stair, without a word to com- 
fort him in his stumbling progress. 

" Dawson Dawdle ! — Look at the clock ! — A pretty time 
of night, indeed, and you a married man. Look at the clock, 
I say, and see." 

Mrs. Dawson Dawdle, however, had, for the moment, lost 
her advantage in thus giving utterance to her emotion ; and 
Mr. Dawson Dawdle, though much shaken, began to recover 
his spirits. 

'* Two o'clock, Mr. Dawdle — two ! — isn't it two, T ask you V* 

" If you are positive about the fact, Mrs. Dawdle, it would 
be unbecoming in me to call your veracity in question, and 
I decline looking. So far as I am informed, it generally is 
two o'clock just about this time in the morning — at least, 
it always has been whenever I stayed up to see. If the clock 
is right, you'll be apt to find it two just as it strikes two — 
that's the reason it strikes, and I don't know that it could 
have a better reason." 

"A pretty time !" 

"Yes — pretty enough," responded Dawdle; "when it 
don't rain, one time of night is as pretty as another time of 
night — it's the people that's up in the time of night, that's 
not pretty; and you, Mrs. Dawdle, are a case in pint — 
keeping a man out of his own house. It's not the night 
that's not pretty, Mrs. Dawdle, but the goings-on, that's not 
— and you are the goings-on. As for me, I'm for peace — 
a dead-latch key and peace ; and I move that the goings-on 
be indefinitely postponed, because, Mrs. Dawdle, I've heard 
it all before — I know it like a book ; and if you insist on it, 
Mrs. Dawdle, I'll save you trouble, and speak the whole 
speech for you right off the reel, only I can't cry good when 
I'm jolly." 

But Dawson Dawdle's volubility, assumed for the purpose 
of hiding his own misgivings, did not answer the end which he 
had in view; for Mrs. Dawson Dawdle, havinghad a glimpse 
at its effects, again resorted to the "silent system" of con- 




LOOK AT THE CLOCK. 97 

nubial management. She spoke no more that night, which 
Dawson, perchance, found agreeable enough. But she 
would not speak any more the day after, which perplexed 
him when he came down too late for breakfast, or returned 
'oo late for dinner. 

*' I do wish she would say something," muttered Dawdle ; 
'something cross, if she likes — anything, so it makes a 
Qoise. It makes a man feel bad, after he's used to being 
talked to, not to be talked to in the regular old-fashioned 
way. When one's so accustomed to being blowed up, it 
seems as if he was lost or didn't belong to anybody, if no 
one sees to it that he's blowed up at the usual time. Bache- 
lors, perhaps, can get along well enough without having 
their comforts properly attended to in this respect. — What 
do they know, the miserable creatures, about such warm 
receptions, and such little endearments ? When they are 
out too late, nobody's at home preparing a speech for them ; 
but I feel just as if I was a widower, if I'm not talked to for 
not being at home in time." 

So Dawson Dawdle was thus impelled to efforts at reform, 
because his defaults and his deficiencies could elicit no re- 
buke but that of an impenetrable silence ; and, in conse- 
quence, he has of late been several times almost in time, and 
he begins to hope that he may be in time yet before he dies. 

As for Mrs. Dawson Dawdle, whose example is commend- 
ed to whom it may concern, she has adopted the " silent 
system" of discipline, as a part of her domestic economy. 
She says nothing. Talk as she may when Dawdle is from 
home, he must be a good Dawdle — a love of a Dawdle — 
to induce her to the use of her tongue when he is about the 
house. The intensity of the silence announces to him how 
far he has offended ; and the only notice now that is ac- 
corded to his errors in the computation of hours and minutes, 
is the hand upon the neck-handkerchief, and that solemn 
and startling request before alluded to, which invites hira to 

" Look at the Clock !" 
7 



98 NEAL S SKETCHES. 



SHERRIE KOBLER: 

OR, A SEARCH AFTER FUN. 

Sherrie Kobler, did you say ] 

Yes — Sherrie Kobler. The name, of course, strikes you 
as familiar ; and if it has been your fortune to be much 
'* about," as the phrase goes, in the bustling scenes of a gay 
metropolis, it is more than probable that you have, more or 
less, had the pleasure of forrping an acquaintance with the 
illustrious individual — Sherrie Kobler — to whom we now 
refer. 

But let us be respectful to a colossal genius of the times, 
and accord to him all the typographical extension to which 
his worth is entitled. Leave it to cotemporaneous levity to 
curtail men's names of fair proportion, and to stab at dignity 
by the vile processes of that abbreviation which terms you 
Pick, and calls me Tom, as if we were too slight and insig- 
nificant to have ourselves spelt out in full. Sheridan Kobler, 
with all its longitude — at least, in the preliminaries of in- 
troduction, however much we may fall into the vulgar cus- 
tom as we proceed in narrative — Sheridan Kobler, then, is 
a personage of intrinsic force ; and, though bearing the 
name of a wit, a statesman, a dramatist, and a bon vivant^ 
he is one of the precious few who have proved themselves 
equal to their prenomen, and have been at all able to realize 
the promise held out by the error of their parents. The 
paths of distinction lie comparatively open to your Sams, 
your Bens, and your Abrahams — but if the name be ambi- 
tious — borrowed, as it were, from the memory of departed 
greatness — a double load is imposed upon its unfortunate 



SHERRIE KOBLER. 99 

.possessor, and he is doomed not only to work himself for- 
ward, but likewise continually to provoke disadvantageous 
3ompaiison with him who has gone before ; and hence it is 
hat this system of complimentary nomenclature has shown 
tself so barren of results. It is, for the most part, the plain 
lame — the simple, unpresuming name — the name without 
iwagger, without dash, without complication — the name 
iwakening no recollections of antecedent glory — that buoys 
tself upward into the ethereal regions of renown. But 
Sheridan Kobler has that within which is superior to impedi- 
ment, and triumphant over obstacles — Sheridan Kobler is 
an impulse and an energy; and if he had done nothing else 
CO entitle him to a world's admiration and remembrance, the 
mere fact that he first prepared, combined, and imbibed, the 
potation that bears his own title — Sherrie Kobler — would 
be sufficient to find him a place in grateful mouths long 
after the Caesars and Napoleons of the earth are forgotten. 

Who — let us ask — who calls for them — who — thirsty 
and impatient — cries aloud for a "Julius Caesar," or a ** Na- 
poleon Bonaparte," to quench the fever of his frame 1 As 
well might he seek refreshment in dust and ashes, as in 
these, or cast himself in fiery furnaces, as ask the warrior's 
aid in such extremity. But it is not thus with Sherrie Kob- 
ler — "a Sherrie Kobler" — "two Sherrie Koblers" — 
" Sherrie Koblers for six " — "keep bringing Sherrie Kob- 
lers" — there's glory for you, in its broadest sense and in 
its most extended compass ; and so does Sherrie Kobler, 
crowned with a decanter, roll onward to the unborn centu- 
ries, cresting the " tenth wave" of imperishable renown. 
"Jefferson shoes" and "Wellington boots" — their soles 
and uppers — may pass into the realms of oblivion, as men 
decay and fashions change. Where is now that tinct of 
" Navarino smoke" which once enveloped beauty in its 
silken folds; and where the " Talavera trowsers" that almost 
showed how fields were won 1 — Gone — all gone — their 
memory scarce remains in shops. Some newer incident 



100 neal's sketches. 

usurps the place; and even the all sorts of " Lafayettes," 
that twenty years ago brought the " illustrious representa-^ 
tive of two hemispheres" so frequently to view, what, we 
pray you, has become of them 1 — Ay — "so fades the glim- 
mering landscape on the sight;" and it is rare — if not 
almost one of the impossibilities — so to impress ourselves 
upon the minds of men that the image may escape erasure, 
and that our memory shall remain as sharply cut and as 
freshly carved as at first. 

We do not propose, therefore, to fly, like an exasperated 
hen, with contumelious boldness, into the wiinkled face of 
the established experiences, in honor of our present hero, 
the benignant Sherrie Kobler, of the nineteenth century. It 
may be that he, too, must undergo the lot of our common 
humanity and evaporate like the rest of us. But still, it may 
be' at least assumed that he can not be altogether lost sight 
of, while bar-rooms remain and glasses retain their shape. 
Punch has long been in the heads of people, and why not 
Sherrie Kobler] — Let ambition take the hint. Why pile 
a pyramid, or build the mighty city ] Why undergo phle- 
botomy in battles, or seek to be immortal in the evanescent 
puffs of transitory newspapers 1 These are but the shadows 
of a shade — the delusive phantasm of the moment; but 
Sherrie Kobler — he is enshrined in men — not, observe ye, 
in the deceitfulness of their hearts, or in the frigid reasoning 
of their intellect — but deeper, surer, safer, in the cravings 
of their stomach, there hoping to hold a state for ever — un- 
less — at which poor Sherrie Kobler shivers — unless the 
second deluge of cold water which now surges round him, 
hydropathically — this Sheri'ie Kobler can not swim — should 
destroy him too, as it once destroyed a world. 

But let us become acquainted with Sherrie Kobler him- 
self, having announced the peculiar fact by which the reality 
of his existence has been carved upon the gate-posts of the 
age — for Sherrie Kobler is not a man of single merit — not 
a hero with " one virtue and a thousand crimes." Sherrie ia 



SHERRIE KOBLER. 101 

jovial, jocose, and jolly, at all points, like a chestnut bur or 
B porcupine — practically jocose and physically jolly ; and it 
is singular how he contrived to pass over the minor consid- 
erations of annoyance to the rest of creation, in w^orking out 
of them all the materials for fun vv^hich they were capable of 
producing. Indeed, the youthful Sherrie Kobler, who now 
does ** not misbeseem the promise of his spring," was a de- 
lightful boy, to those who discern genius in its fainter strug- 
gling and feebler developments. At that time of life, he 
was not endowed with a superfluity of strength; yet the lack 
of power was deliciously made up in adroitness ; and he 
could pull away the chair on which an elderly individual was 
about to deposite himself, with a hand so neat and clever that 
the tumble consequent thereon could not fail to elicit gen- 
eral admiration. The crash was magnificent, though there 
were occasions on which the performance was productive 
somewhat of a suit of boxed ears, and various entertain- 
ments of that vivacious description, which are, perhaps, more 
practised than appreciated ; and it was thus a source of fre- 
quent complaint on the part of Sherrie and his admirers — 
especially when stout ladies and maiden aunts were discom- 
posed after his peculiar fashion — that "some people never 
know how to take a joke" — your joke probably not being 
*' taken" when an equivalent is returned in sundry manipu- 
lations on the dexter and sinister aspects of your counte- 
nance. 

The world is apt to treat us — Sherrie Kobler and all — 
as Tony Lumpkin was treated at the Hardcastles' — "we 
are always snubbed when we are in spirits." 

So it was when Sherrie put brimstone on the stove or 
powder in the scuttle — nay, the joke was rarely taken when 
he had even encountered the trouble, on the coldest of nights, 
to lodge extensive snowballs in the beds, or to pour water 
into every boot. People have no perception of fun what- 
ever; and having undergone detriment by finding salt in 
their coffee or fishes in their pockets — nay, after having 



102 neal's sketches. 

been caused to tumble down stairs through the devices of in- 
genious trickery, they rarely laughed, while Sherrie Koblei 
was convulsed with merriment. Isn't it queer 1 

Not only so, but likewise when Sherrie endeavored to 
develop the martial spirit of the neighbor children, by indu- 
cing them to practise pugilism on each other, their moth- 
ers, weakly repugnant to the visual and nasal traces of the 
fray — variegations of black and crimson — were most vocif- 
erous in complaint, as if there must not be attendant draw- 
backs to the accomplishment of every good ; and the case 
was not much better when Sherrie undertook to match 
Brown's dog against Smith's cat, down there in the cellar. 
Besides, what harm is there in administering Cayenne pep- 
per to innocent urchins? Does it not make them friskier 
than they ever were before, in the whole course of their 
lives ] And if there be such voracity in ducks, that they 
will gobble up the stump of a lighted cigar, or try to chew 
a burning coal, whose fault is it, we ask you, that ducks are 
foolish ] Sherrie could not help it, if he desired to elicit 
fun, that his vicinity was always to be discovered by the 
roarings, yelpings, squealings, and scoldings, that invariably 
betokened his whereabouts ; and if he put out his foot as 
you passed — why didn't you take better care 1 — it was you 
that fell down — not he. 

Sherrie Kobler went at one time largely into the hoaxing 
business, and would, in your name, sometime amuse himself 
with advertising for cats or dogs in quantity, deliverable on 
your premises. Unwished-for cabs would call to convey you 
t(» most unwelcome places ; and the undertaker would come 
breathless with regret at your sudden demise, yet quite wil- 
ling to perform the job of this premature interment. Sherrie 
was likewise curious in what we may call peptic combina- 
tions, frequenting restaurants and oyster-cellars, to mix the 
castors after receipts of his own, which queerly united those 
various condiments that most people desire to commingle 
for themselves. He could also — accomplished youth — 



SHERRIE KOBLER. 103 

sneeze so melodiously in church, as to provoke all the juve- 
niles to laughter; and at an opera, he yawned so loudly and 
so judiciously at the most dulcet passages of the prima donna, 
that while some chuckled, others again cried ** turn him out." 
It is he, likewise, that barks when the rest applaud. 

It will be seen, then, that fun is the staple of Sherrie Kob- 
ler's existence, and that fun he must have, at any cost and at 
any hazard. Let the poet ask, if he will, ** What is life with 
out passion — sweet passion of love V* Sherrie Kobler is con- 
vinced that life is not endurable or worthy of toleration with- 
out a large modicum of that species of sport which, while it 
is fun to him, is apt to be, comparatively, death to others. 
" What fun can we have here V is the first inquiry wherever 
he goes ; and if the circumstances be not productive of the 
article, rely on it that Sheme Kobler will surpass the leop- 
ard and change his spot immediately. Fun, to be sure, is, 
in his estimation, a very comprehensive phrase. If a horse 
runs away, that of course is fun, for somebody is hurt. So, 
too, with the upsetting of a vehicle. A riot, now, is fun alive, 
especially if a lad or two be carried home from it dead. 
There is a deal of fun, also, in a fire, should it be of the most 
destructive sort; and a street-fight answers the purpose ex- 
ceedingly well, if nothing more exciting be at hand. Break- 
ing things is fun, moreover, if it so turn out that Sherrie is 
not obliged to pay for them ; and the fun is greatly enhanced, 
if the sufferer has no redress and is quite unable to bear the 
loss. Turbulence in steamboats, and tumult in railroad-cars 
— that's tolerable fun, for want of better, if there are timid 
women present to observe the manliness of the affair; and 
all descriptions of roaring disturbances, every one of these 
is fun, according to Sherrie Kobler and his followers, of 
whom there are a good many " about in spots," at this pres- 
ent writing. 

And so, if suddenly metam.orphosed into a dictionary, and 
called upon authoritatively to give a precise definition of the 
thing called fun, by the Sherrie Koblers and by " the boys" 



104 NEAL S SKETCHES. 

in general, it might be said, in sweeping terms, that fun is 
nuisance, and that nuisance is fun. Fun, to be fun at all, 
must annoy every one (excepting the funny ones themselves), 
who chance to be within the sphere of its influence ; and it 
rises in the scale of funniment, just in proportion as it in- 
creases in qualities of the disagreeable and painful sort. 
Thus Sherrie Kobler, being a funny one, rejoices in all man- 
ner of superfluous noises. He laughs with a reverberating 
yell and an explosive violence that remind one of the storm- 
ing of Ciudad Roderigo, or the Battle of Prague — the louder 
and the more appalling is his scream in proportion to the 
insignificance of the cause of laughter, as if to make up in 
din for a deficiency in sport. The slamming of doors " in 
the dead waste and middle of the night," is another of Sher- 
rie Kobler's enjoyments, as he rattles up and down stairs, 
like a drove of oxen or the battalion of flying artillery at 
drill ; and he practices upon trumpets, bugles, cornets, and 
so forth, precisely as the " sma' hours" of the morning begin 
to strike — enchantins: Sherrie Kobler! 

Sherrie has also a great fancy for the keeping of dogs — 
there's such a deal of fun in dogs — in dogs that bark, for 
example — sharp, excruciating, and excoriating terriers, down 
below in the yard, which challenge every passing footstep or 
recurring noise, with a piercing eloquence that causes each 
nerve to tingle ; or a forlorn pointer tied with a rope, that 
howls at moonbeams and yelps at the intervening cloud. 
There is a nocturnal pleasantry at Sherrie Kobler's, which 
must be felt to be appreciated. The dog at distance leads 
the choir, and never calls for aid in vain. The hint once 
given, the full pack open at once, and a general cry prevails. 
Who, then, so happy as Sheme Kobler, as he hears the 
sleepless neighborhood shout in vain from windows — "get 
out!" — "lie down!" — "shut up!" — whistling, coaxing, 
raging, for a little sleep, with dashings of water, and show- 
erings of bits of soap, of sticks, or brushes, or boots, just as 
the chamber furnishes material for such projectile demon- 



SHERRIE KOBLER. 105 

Btrations 1 Ha ! ha ! fun alive for Sherrie Kobler. With 
euch a night, he is content to doze all day. 

Sherrie, you see, is fond of pets, because, as you may ob 
serve, when there are no other present means of eliciting 
fun, through the instrumentality of pets a secondary degree 
of fun may be extracted from the pet itself. A melancholy 
life, in the vast majority of cases, is the life of a pet — as sad 
almost as that of the retained jester of the olden time — and 
hence your pet — canine, particularly — is almost always 
cynical and misanthropic. Unhappy pet ! it is for thee to 
be washed, and combed, and adorned, and kept in chambers, 
with ribands and with bells, while thy brothers and thy sisters 
riot in dust and liberty ! It is for thee, too, to be taught 
tricks, all foreign to thy nature — to learn these sittings-up 
and lyings-down, and giving me your paw, and jumpings-over 
sticks ! Harsh rebukes are for thee, with slaps and pinches 
— fondlings now, and cuffings then, with all those bodily 
disquiets which arise from uncongenial atmospheres and un- 
wholesome feedings. Pampered and puffy pet — no wonder 
thou art cross, for thy whole existence is perchance a thwart- 
' ing and a crossing of nature's design for thee ! — a splendid 
misery is thine, poor pet, even when most caressed and 
vaunted. No wonder pets will run away whenever doors 
are open. There is no slavery like to theirs. Pray, pity 
pets ; and pity, beyond all others, the pets of Sherrie Kobler, 
which are doomed, in one way or in another, to furnish fun, 
and which can not even take the naps of weariness and ex- 
haustion, without a chance of Canton crackers to the nose or 
distressing canisters to the tail. Thank your stars, my sigh- 
ing friend — that is, if you are ungrateful and repining — 
that we are not compelled to " hold opinion with Pythago- 
ras," or to have faith in the theory of transmigration ; for 
would it not be doleful to change hereafter into the pet of 
funny men ] Or what more fearful retribution could there 
be, than for the funny man himself — in quadrupedal meta* 
morphosis — to be converted into the pet of men still funnier 



106 neal's sketches. 

and more practical in joking than he has ever been ] By 
the way, tyrannic — sir, shall we say, or madam — did it 
ever cross your mind, touching this realization of the " Lex 
Talionis,'" which will return you like for like, and cause 
you to feel remorsefully whatever pang you may have given 
to others 1 You, that chide and rail, beware lest the ser- 
vant's post be yours — you, that spur the willing steed to 
death, would such goadings thiill pleasantly through your 
own person? And, Sherrie Koblers, what if you should 
hold the p ace of pet to Sherne Koblers yet unborn ? Think 
of it often — ** what if my own measure be hereafter meted 
out to me V — and check the selfish impulse. 

Sherrie Kobler's last arrangement of this sort, is in the 
shape of a bull-terrier — an imported dog, direct from over 
sea, and full, of course, of savagenesses and prejudices — a 
carping, crusty dog, whose whole life is one of quarrel and 
of fence — a dog that never frisks or smiles. No man e'er 
saw a jocund wagging of the tail in him — no, nor a playful 
bound — obviously, a dog disgusted with the world — devoid 
of hope or love — of fear, favor, or affection. 

** The funniest dog you ever saw," says Shenie Kobler ; 
"bite anybody but me; and when he once takes hold, he 
never lets go again. I never had so much fun with any dog 
in my life. He has had a bite out of almost everybody I 
know, and has swallowed samples of all my friends. He 
shakes 'em beautiful I You should see him astonish the 
match-boys and the apple-girls, when they come in at the 
front-door ; and every day, as I sit at the window, that dog, 
who can do anything but talk, is sure to gather a crowd. 
Sometimes he takes a horse by the nose, or another dog by 
the throat, or some respectable old gentleman by the calf of 
the leg ; and then the fun of it is to see 'em try to make him 
let go, with their cold water, big sticks, and all that. Yes, 
that dog — Ole Bull — is worth his weight in gold — the fun- 
niest dog anywhere's about." 

When Sherrie Kobler feels dull or dejected — as the gay- 



SHERRIE KOBLER. 107 

est sometimes will — for there is no sunshine without its 
occasional cloud — he calls up Ole Bull to entertain him, and 
laughs to see the illustrious Ole chase visiters down stairs. 
You may see him now, disporting himself with the coat-tails 
of one of Mr. Sherrie Kobler's chief creditors, preparatory 
to munching up a portion of the individual. 

"Wonderful dog, that Ole Bull!" cried Sherrie Kobler : 
" he can tell a man with a bill in his pocket, just like a book 
— he can't bear anything bilious. Deal of fun in that 
dop- 



5* 



But the chief creditor aforesaid had not a perceptive fac- 
ulty in reference to the humorous, especially when the joke 
was at his own expense. He intimated indeed — the unrea- 
sonable creature — that it was a little too bad to be bitten so 
deeply, first by Ole Bull's master, and then by Ole Bull him- 
self — the practice was too sharp altogether; and so he took 
measures to curtail Sherrie Kobler's enjoyment of life, and 
contributed to bring that amiable personage's public career 
as ** a man about town" to a melancholy close and a disas- 
trous twilight. Fun, we find, is not commercially productive, 
and is not yet regarded in the light of a legal tender for the 
payment of debts. Neither do bull-terriers pass current for 
bullion or relief-notes. Sherrie Kobler, therefore, could not 
pay, and consequently was allowed to joke no more at large; 
but as he left his lodgings, in charge of an officer, he took 
occasion to vent his exasperated feelings in a manner con- 
genial to the circumstances, by dealing out a potent kick to 
his deposed favorite, Ole Bull ; and Ole Bull — 

" Ingratitude more strong than traitors' arms" — 

did not hesitate to follow the lead thus given, according to 
the capabilities and resources with which he is gifted. Ole 
Bull borrowed a bit from his master. 

The officer laughed — swore it was comical — roared over 
it as a good joke — thought Ole Bull the funniest dog 7ie ever 



108 neal's sketches. 

saw in Jiis life. But as for Shenie Kobler — hold! — let a 
veil be drawn over the griefs we can not hope to depict. 

The result proved that fun is fun, relatively — according 
to the position we occupy in regard to the act of fun. When 
Shenie Kobler laughed and roared, it is sure that some one 
else was weeping; and perhaps it would not be amiss for all, 
as they pass through life, to endeavor to view both sides of 
every question, that our enjoyment may not be neutralized 
in the broad account by the suffering of others — a wisdom 
to which, it may be, that Sherrie Koblers rarely help us. 



SINGLETON SNIPPE. 109 



SINGLETON SNIPPE: 

WHO MARRIED FOR A LIVING. 

"Used to be — " 

"We have, as a general rule, an aversion to this species 
of qualifying phraseology, in which so many are prone to 
indulge. It seems to argue a disposition like to that of lago, 
who "was nothing, if not critical;" and it indicates a ten- 
dency to spy out flaws and to look after defect — a disposi- 
tion and a tendency at war, we think, with that rational 
scheme of happiness which derives its comfort from the re- 
flection of the sunny side of things. "It was" — " she has 
been" — " he used to be" — and so forth, as if all merit were 
a reminiscence — if not past, at least passing away. Is that 
a pleasure ? Would it not be quite as well to applaud the 
present aspect, and to be satisfied with the existing circum- 
stances, instead of murmuring over the fact that once it was 
brighter ? 

But yet there is a difference — 

Yes — decidedly — the matter here is beyond the possi- 
oility of a dispute. 

There is a difference — lamentable enough, you may term 
It — between the Singleton Snippe that was, and the Single 
ton Snippe that is. 

The Singleton Snippe that was, is not now an existence ; 
and the probabilities are that he never will be again. Nothing 
is stable in this world but instability ; and the livery-stable 
of to-day is converted into something else on the morrow, 
never more to be a stable, unstable stable. And so with 
men as well as with horses — for this perpetual revolutiorj 



110 NEAL^S SKETCHES. 

of hunian affairs goeth not backward, except when the rope 
breaks on an inclined plane, making it a down-hill sort of a 
business. Snippe is on the down-hill — rather. 

The Singleton Snippe that is, stands picturesquely and 
pictorially before you — patiently, as it were, and on a mon- 
ument. 

And now, was there ever — we ask the question of those 
who remember Snippe in his primitive and natural state — 
was there ever a meiTier fellow than the said Singleton 
Snippe, in the original, if we may term it so — before the said 
Singleton was translated into his present condition, and be- 
came tamed down from his erratic, independent eccentricities 
to the patient tolerance of the band-box and the bundle? 
Who, thus remembering and thus contrasting Singleton 
Snippe as he was, with the Singleton Snippe as he is now 
portrayed, could possibly believe that there are processes in 
life — chymistries and alchymies — which could bring the 
man of to-day so diametrically opposite to the same man of 
yesterday ; and cause the Singleton Snippe of the past to 
differ with such strangeness from the Singleton Snippe of the 
current era? Two Snippes, as plain as may be; but legal- 
ly and responsibly the same Snippe. There was Snippe the 
bold — Snippe the reckless — Snippe the gay and hilarious 
r-- scoffing, joking, jeering Snippe — Snippe that was always 
on hand for mischief or for fun — Snippe, with the cigar in 
hit; mouth, or the champagne-glass in his grasp — yes, the 
veiy Snippe whom you have so often heard in the street, 
disturbing slumber by the loud and musical avowal of his 
deliberate determination not to " go home till morning," as 
if it would, barring the advantage of the daylight, be any 
easier to him then, and whose existence was ever a scene of 
■uproar and jollity, except in the repentant intervals of head- 
ache and exhaustion. And then, besides his ornamental 
purposes, he was such a useful member of society, this Sin- 
gleton Snippe, in the consumption of the good things of this 
life at the restaurants and in the oyster saloon. 



SINGLETON SNIPPE. HI 



"Was not that a Snippe — something like a Snippe 1 
But, alas for Snippe, the last representative of the illus- 
trious firm of " Tom & Jerry." Who is there now — now 
'.hat Snippe is withdrawn as a partner from the establish- 
,,ent — to maintain the credit of the house? Snippe is 
snubbed — snubbed is Snippe. Well, well, well — let the 
watchmen — sweet voices of the night — rejoice in their 
boxes, if they will, over their pine-kindlings, and their hot 
sheet-iron stoves — rejoice in their cosy slumbers, that the 
original Snippe no longer molests their ancient, solitary 
reign, by uncouth noises, preliminary, symphonious, and 
symptomatic to a row. And let the cabmen — want a cab, 
sir ] — be merry, too, with rein in hand, or reclining against 
the friendly wall, that they are no more to be victimized by 
the practical jocularities of the school of Singleton Snippe. 
What relish have they for the gracefulness of existence — 
its little playful embellishments that bead and dimple the 
dull surface of the pond into the varieties of playful fantasy. 
Such as these would describe a boy of the superlative 
order of merit, as " one that goes straight home and never 
stops to play on the road ;" and we all know that Singleton 
Snippe never went straight home in the whole course of his 
experience. 

Home ! 

Home, it should be understood, so much vaunted by the 
poets, and so greatly delighted in by the antipodes to Snippe, 
is regarded in quite a different light — humdrumish — by the 
disciples of Snippeism. Home, according to them, is not 
so much a spot to retire to, as a place to escape from — a 
centre of rendezvous, no doubt, with the washerwoman, the 
bootblack, and other indispensable people of that sort. 
Snippe's new clothes were always sent home : and long 
bills, provocative of long faces, were apt to follow them with 
the certainty of cause and effect.- But to stay at home him- 
self— what— Snippe ?— He stay at home 1 He was called 
for occasionally at that point— his breakfast was taken there, 



112 neal's sketches. 

when any degree of appetite remained from the preceding 
night; and a note would eventually reach its destination if 
left for him there. But it required a very unusual conjunc- 
tion of circumstances to find Singleton Snippe at home more 
frequently than could be helped. Home, in Snippe's estima- 
tion, was the embodiment of a yarn — he never heard of it 
without the most extended of gapes. He could not speak 
of it without opening his mouth to the extent of its volume ; 
and Snippe's mouth is not a diamond edition, but rather an 
octavo, if not rising to the dignity of a quarto, at least when 
he is drinking. " Home !" said he ; " home's a bore. What 
fun is there at home, except dozing over the fire, or snoring 
on a sofa V* 

Home, indeed ! — Talk to Snippe about staying at home, 
if you would risk a home-icidc. To be sure, when too ill 
to run about, Singleton Snippe remained unwillingly at 
home, as if it were an hospital ; and he stayed at home once 
for the space of an evening, merely to try the experiment, 
when he was in health ; but before he went to bed, Snippe 
had thoughts of sending for the coroner, to sit upon his body, 
but changed his mind and brewed a jorum of punch, which, 
after he had shod the cat with walnut shells, somewhat rec- 
onciled him to the monotony of domestic enjoyment. But 
Snippe never stayed at home again, not he. Home is where 
the heart is; and Snippe's heart was a traveller — a locomo- 
tive heart, preambulating ; and it had no tendencies toward 
circumscription and confine. That put him out of heart al- 
together. 

Wherever anything was going on — "a fight or a foot- 
race," according to popular phraseology, which thus dis- 
tinguishes the desirable in the shape of spectacular enter- 
tainment — there was Snippe, with his hat set knowingly on 
one side, to indicate that if others felt out of their element 
on the occasion, he, Snippe, was perfectly at home, under all 
circumstances — the more at home, the more singular the 
occasion, and the more strange the circumstance ; and his 



SINGLETON SNIPPE, 113 

hat was the more knowingly set on to indicate the extent of 
his superiority to vulgar prejudices. It was the hat of a 
practical philosopher — a thorough-bred man of the world, 
who could extract sport from anything, and who did not care, 
so that the occurrence afforded excitement, whether other 
people thought it reprehensible or not. — Yes, yes — there 
is much in a hat — talk of your physiognomy and your 
phrenology — what are they as indications of character, feel- 
ing, and disposition, compared to the "set" of one's beaver? 
Look at courage, will you, with his hat drawn resolutely 
down upon its determined brow. Dare you dispute the way 
with such a hat as that 1 The meek one and the lowly, 
with his hat placed timidly on the back of his head — does 
not every bully practice imposition there 1 Hats turned up 
behind, indicate a scornful indifference to public opinion in 
all its phases — say what you will, who cares ] While the 
hat turned up before, has in it a generous confidence, free 
from suspicion of contempt. Nay, more — when science 
has made a further progress, why should not the expression 
of the hat afford knowledge of the passing mood of mind in 
its wearer, the hat shifting and changing in position as the brain 
beneath forms new combinations of thought? Let the shop- 
boy answer ; does he not discover at a glance, from the style 
in which his master wears his hat at the moment, whether he, 
the subordinate, is to be greeted with scoldings and re- 
proaches, or with commendations and applause 1 Does not 
the hat paternal forbode the sunshine or the storm ; and ay 
the pedagogue approaches school, where is the trembling 
truant who does not discern ** the morn's disaster" from the 
cockinor of that awful hat ? There can not be a doubt of it. 

o 

The science of the hat yet remains to be developed ; and 
deep down in the realms of ignorance are they who have 
not reflected yet upon the clue afforded by the hat to what is 
passing in the soul of him who wears it. 

Thus, you could distinguish Singleton Snippe's hat at a 
horse-race, at a riot, or at a fire — equally delighted was that 

8 



114 NKAI.'S SKETCHES. 

hat at every species of uproar — in the street — the lobhy — 
the bar-room, or wherever else that hat could spy out "fun," 
the great staple of its existence, with this advantage, that it 
had an instinct of peril, and could extricate itself from dan- 
ger without the slightest ruffling of its fur. Snippe was 
wise — Snippe preferred that all detriments should fall to 
the share of others, while the joke remained with him. 

Bui at last a change reached even unto the hat of Snippe 
— change comes to all; a change, singularly enough, that 
took all other change from the pockets of Snippe. He was 
oblig:ed to discover that the mere entertainments of life are 
not a commodity to live upon, and that however pleasant it 
may be to amuse one's self, the profits thereon accruing do 
not furnish continued means of delectation and delight. 
Snippe neglected his business, and consequently, his busi- 
ness, with a perversity peculiar to business, neglected 
Snippe — so that Snippe and Snippe's business had a fall- 
ing out. 

** This will never do," declared Snippe, after deep reflec- 
tion on the subject of ways and means — ** never do in the 
world." 

But yet it did do — did do for Singleton Snippe, and effect- 
ually broke him up in the mercantile way, which involved 
all other ways ; and so Mr. Snippe resolved to make the 
most available market that presented itself for the retrieval 
of past error. Snippe resolved to marry — advantageously, 
of course. Snippe was not poetical — he had no vein of 
romance in his constitution; he could live very well by him- 
self, if he only had the means for that purpose ; but not hav- 
ing the means, unfortunate Snippe, he determined to live by 
somebody else, living of some sort being a matter of neces- 
sity in Snippe's estimation, though no other person could 
discover what necessity there was for the living of Snippe. 
The world might revolve without a Snippe ; and affairs gen- 
erally would work smoothly enough, even if he were not 
present. Snippe labored under a delusion. 



SINGLETON SNIPPE. 115 

But Still — not having much of philosophy in his compo- 
sition to enable him to discover that, so far as the general 
economy of the universe is concerned, it was no matter 
whether Singleton Snippe obtained a living or not ; and lack- 
ing the desire, if not also the ability, to work out that living 
by Ids own energies of head and hands, Snippe, according 
to his own theory, having too much of proper pride and of 
commendable self-respect to engage in toil, though some of 
the unenlightened gave it the less respectful designation of 
Inziness, which, perhaps, is a nearer relative to the pride of the 
Snippes than is generally supposed — Snippe, as already in- 
timated, made up his mind to marry aforesaid — upon the 
mercantile principle — bartering Snippe. as a valuable com- 
modity (without regard to the penal enactments against ob- 
taining goods on false pretences), for a certain share of 
boarding and lodging, and of the other appliances required 
for the outfit and the sustenance of a gentleman of wit 
and leisure about town — Snippe offered to the highest bid- 
der — Snippe put up, and Snippe knocked down — going — 
gone ! 

Now, although there are many who would not have had 
Singleton Snippe about the premises, even as a gift, and 
would have rejected him had he been offered as a Christ- 
mas-box, yet there was a rich widow, having the expeiience 
of three or four husbands, who did not hesitate on the ex- 
periment of endeavoring to fashion our Snippe into the 
shape and form of a good and an available husband. Mrs. 
Dawkins was fully aware of the nature of his past life, and 
of the peculiarities of his present position. She likewise 
formed a shrewd guess as to the reasons which impelled 
him to seek her well-filled hand, and to sigh after her pleth- 
oric purse — Snippe in search of a living; but confident in 
her own skill — justly confident, as was proved by the result 
— to reduce the most rebellious into a proper state of sub- 
missiveness and docility, she yielded her blushing assent to 
become the bloomJng bride of Singleton Snippe, and to un- 



116 neal's sketches. 

dertake the government of that insubordinate province, the 
state of man. 

" I shall marry Mrs. Dawkins," thought Snippe ; but, 
alas! how mistakenly; **I shall marry her," repeated he, 
" and, for a w^eek or two, I'll be as quiet as a lamb, sitting 
there by the fire a twiddling of my thumbs, and saying all 
sorts of sweet things about * lovey,' and * ducky,' and so 
forth. But as soon after that as possible, when I've found 
out how to get at the cash^ then Mrs. Dawkins may make 
up her mind to be astonished a little. That dining-room of 
hers will do nice for suppers and card-parties, and punch 
and cigars — -we'll have roaring times in that room, mind I 
tell you we will. I'll have four dogs in the yard — two 
pinters, a poodle, and a setter ; and they shall come into the 
parlor to sleep on the rug, and to hunt the cat whenever 
they want to. A couple of horses besides — I can't do 
without horses — a fast trotter, for fun, and a pacer for exer- 
cise ; and a great many more things, which I can't remem- 
ber now. But Mrs. Dawkins has a deal to leani, I can tell 
her. There's nothing humdrum about Singleton Snippe ; 
and if she did henpeck my illustrious predecessors, she has 
got to find the difference in my case." 

So Snippe emphasized his hat plump upon his brow, and 
looked like the individual, not Franklin, that defied the 
lightning. 

" And I shall marry Singleton Snippe," also soliloquized 
Mrs. Dawkins, " who is described to me as one of the wild- 
est of colts, and as being only in pursuit of my money. 
Well, I'm not afraid. A husband is a very convenient arti- 
cle to have about the house — to run errands, to call the 
coach, to quarrel with work-people, and to accompany me 
on my visits. Everybody ought to have a husband to com- 
plete the furniture ; and as for his being a wild colt, as Mrs. 
Brummagen says, I should like to see the husband of mine 
who will venture to be disobedient to my will when he has 
to come to me for everything he wants. I'll teach Mr, Sin- 



SINGLETON SNIPPE. 117 

gleton Snippe to know his place in less than a week, or else 
Mr. Singleton Snippe is a very different person from the 
generality of men. 

Thus Singleton Snippe and Mrs. Dorothea Dawkins be- 
came one, on the programme above specified ; and thus 
Mr. Singleton Snippe, whose last dollar was exhausted in 
the marriage-fee, was enabled to obtain a living. Poor 
Snippe ! 

Glance, with tear in eye, if tears you have, at the por- 
trait of the parties, now first laid before the public — note it 
in your books, how sadly Singleton Snippe is metamorphosed 
from the untamed aspect that formerly distinguished him in 
the walks of men, and tell us whether Driesbach, Van Am- 
burgh, or Carter, ever effected a revolution so great as we 
find here presented. Observe the bandbox, and regard the 
umbreir — see — above all — see how curiously and how 
securely Singleton Snippe's hand is enfolded in that of Mrs. 
Singleton Snippe, that she may be sure of him, and that he 
may not slip from her side, and relapse into former habits — 
** safe bind, safe find," is the matrimonial motto of Mrs. Sin- 
gleton Snippe. Moreover, in vindication of our favorite 
theory of the expression of the beaver, mark ye the droop- 
ing aspect of Snippe's chapeau, as if it had been placed 
there by Mrs. Snippe herself, to suit her own fancy, and to 
avoid the daring look of bachelor, which is her especial 
detestation. 

Snippe is subdued — a child might safely play with him. 

And now, curious psychologist and careful commentator 
on the world, would you learn how results, apparently so 
miraculous, were effected and brought about 1 Read, then, 
and be wiser. 

Snippe has his living, for he is living yet, though he 
scarcely calls it living — but Mrs. Snippe firmly holds the 
key of the strong-box, and thus grasps the reins of author- 
ity. The Snippes are tamed as lions are — by the mol 

lifying and reducing result of the system of short allowan 
22 



118 NEAL*S SKETCHES. 

ces. Wonderful are tlie effects thereof, triumphant over 
Snippes — no suppers, no cards, no punches, and no cigars. 
The dogs retreated before judicious applications of the 
broom-handle; and it was found a matter of impossibility to 
trot those horses up — the arm of cavalry formed no branch 
in the services of Singleton Snippe. 

Foiled at other points, Mr. Snippe thought that he might 
at least be able to disport himself in the old routine, and to 
roam abroad with full pockets in the vivacious field of for- 
mer exploit ; and he endeavored one evening silently to 
reach his hat and coat, and to glide away. 

" Hey, hey ! — what's that 1 — where, allow me to ask, are 
you going at this time of night, Mr. Snippe V cried the lady, 
in notes of ominous shai*pness. 

"Out," responded Snippe, with a heart-broken expres- 
sion, like an afflicted mouse. 

" Out, indeed ! — where's out, I'd like to know 1 — where's 
out, that you prefer it to the comfortable pleasures of your 
own fireside ?" 

*' Out is nowhere in particular, but everywhere in general, 
to see what's going on. Everybody goes out, Mrs. Snippe, 
after tea, they do." 

"No, Mr. Snippe, everybody don't — do I go out, Mr. 
Snippe, without being able to say where 1 am going to ] 
No, Mr. Snippe, you are not going out to frolic, and smoke, 
and drink, and riot round, upon my money. If you go out, 
I'll go out too. But you're not going out. Give me that hat, 
Mr. Snippe, and do you sit down there, quietly, like a sober, 
respectable man." 

And so, Mr. Snippers hat — wonder not at its dejection — 
was securely placed every eveni-ng under Mrs. Snippe's 
most watchful eye ; and Mr. Snippe, after a few unavailing 
eff'oJts to the contrary, was compelled to yield the point, to 
stay quietly at home, his peculiar destination, and to nurse 
the lap-dog, and to cherish the cat, instead of bringing poo- 



SINGLETON SNIPPE. 119 

die and setter into the drawing-room to discontent the feline 
favorite. 

** I want a little money, Mrs. Snippe, if you please — some 
change." 

** And pray, allow me to ask what you want it for, Mr, 
Snippe 1" 

" To pay for things, my dear." 

" Mr. Snippe, I tell you once for all, I'm not going to 
nurture you in your extravagance, I'm not. Money, indeed ! 
— don't I give you all you wish to eat, and all you want to 
wear ? Let your bills be sent to me, Mr. Snippe, and I'll 
save you all trouble on that score. What use have you for 
money ] No, no — husbands are always extravagant, and 
should never be trusted with money. My money, Mr. 
Snippe — mine — jingling in your pockets, would only 
cempt you to your old follies, and lead you again to your 
worthless companions. I know well that husbands with 
money are never to be trusted out of one's sight — never. 
I'll take better care of you than that, Mr. Snippe, I will." 

If Singleton Snippe ever did escape, he was forthwith 
brought to the confessional, to give a full and faithful 
account of all that had occurred during his absence — where 
he had been — whom he had seen — what he had done, and 
everything that had been said, eliciting remarks thereon, 
critical and hypercritical, from his careful guardian ; and 
so also, when a little cash did come into his possession, he 
was compelled to produce it, and to account for every defi- 
cient cent. 

No wonder, then, that Singleton Snippe underwent 

" A sea change, 
Into something quaint and strange." 

He married for a living, but while he lives, he is never 
sure whether it is himself or not, so different is the Sin- 
gleton Snippe that is, from the Singleton Snippe that 
was. 



120 neal's sketches. 

If you would see and appreciate differences in this respect, 
it would not be amiss to call upon the Snippes, and observe 
with what a subdued, tranquillized expression, the once 
dashing, daring Snippe now sits with his feet tucked under 
his chair, to occupy as little room as possible, speaking only 
when he is spoken to, and confining his remarks to " Yes, 
ma'm," and ** No, ma'm." Mrs. Snippe has *' conquered a 
peace." 



QUINTUS QUOZZLE*S CATASTROPHE. 121 



QUINTUS QUOZZLE'S CATASTROPHE. 

A PHRENOLOGICAL ILLUSTRATION. 

Whether phrenology, in its details— geographical phre- 
nology, if we may call it so- which plots out the cranium, 
like a topographical engineer, giving a local habitation and 
a name to each distinct faculty of the mind — whether this 
hypothesis should be received as true or not, is a question 
about which, as the work of proselytism — either way— hap- 
pens to be none of our business, it is not the purpose to argue 
at this present writing. It may be, or it may not be— let 
learned doctors decide; taking care, however, that judgment 
is neither warped nor biased by personal interest in the 
matter. One is so apt to incline to that which flatters his 
own "developments," and to frown adversely upon a system 
which would register his intellectual gifts as rising only from 
«' pretty fair to middling." It is an impulse of our nature to 
love that which deals kindly with us ; and it will often be 
found that the ^ro and the con in the argument now alluded 
to, is more or less influenced by such considerations. With 
a cerebral expansion as rotund and majestic as a pumpkin, 
who can array himself in hostility to Gall and Spurzheim ] 
Greatness may not, perhaps, have as yet made itself appa- 
rent; but it is pleasant to think that it will at last come forth, 
and 'to rest in the faith that the day of our supremacy is 
about to dawn. But, on the contrary, if our upper story be 
Bet down as nothing remarkable, why should we subscribe to 
Combe, or believe that there is aught in measurement % The 
great and governing principle of the qvid pro quo demands 



122 neal's sketches. 

our gratitude in tlie one instance ; but, in the other, it is evi- 
dent that no return is to be expected at our hands. 

Thus, it will be noted, for the most part, that the individ- 
ual who requires a hat of the extra size, habitually hiding 
his light under a bushel, and who, therefore, is unable to im- 
prove his craniological embellishment, even at the most 
crowded of tea-parties, by the appropriation of a newer and 
better beaver than his own — the fitness of things forbidding 
the exercise of such choice and discrimination, so far as he is 
concerned — is apt to look with a complacent eye u-pon the 
science to which we refer ; while the person whose physical 
man is crowned with a pippin, and to whom a thimble would 
serve as a helmet, is at once of opinion that the whole of 
these assumptions are ridiculous, and that, perhaps, the truth 
will eventually be proved to lie in a contrary direction. If 
it be said that we either are, or ought to be, a wit or a war- 
rior, a statesman or a philosopher, the intelligence falls 
agreeably upon the ear, and the inference is unavoidable, 
that there must be profundity in him who has been able to 
discover the latent fact, when not a sign of it is apparent to 
the general view, and when it is the first time that we have 
fallen even under a suspicion of being wiser than our neigh- 
bors. But should it be announced to us, that we have no 
business with ambition, and that our hope is a deceiver — 
that distinction is unattainable, and that the nursery predic- 
tions of our future glory were but the idle dream in which 
fond parents are apt to indulge — it is merely a defensive 
means and a retributive return, to set him down a simpleton 
who has the hardihood to tell us so. Let those, then, who 
would arrive at a candid conclusion, beware at once of 
Scylla and Charybdis, lest their heads come in contact with 
a post. 

Being, as it were, non-committal upon this point, it is 
enough just now to declare a decided belief — founded upon 
great research and careful investigation — that instances do 
occur when there is much in a head, and that there are cases 



QUINTUS QUOZZLE's CATASTROPHE. 123 

to the contrary — fall cases and empty cases, but still cases 
in point ; establishing the fact, whith is something for philos 
ophy to go upon, that there are two varieties of the article in 
market. Many a man, deceived by the semblance which 
rests with the vacuity of a balloon upon his deluded shoul- 
ders, flatters himself with an idea that it is positively a head 
— available and efficient — and does not hesitate to make 
purchases for its adornment : he pets it up, and he brushes 
it down — has it trimmed, curled, and perfumed — admires 
it in the glass, and "goes ahead" with complacency — yet 
his friends and neighbors, in consultation, will shake their 
own heads, as they declare that he has no head at all, show- 
ing the strange diversities of opinion that exist in some heads 
on other heads. Nay, he will actually imagine, upon occa- 
sion, that his head aches — there are numbers, indeed, to 
whom the head is only a thing to ache with — and he ties it 
up in a napkin, to be deplored over and to be sympathized 
upon, at the very moment probably when society announces 
its conviction that — poor fellow — if he only had a head, 
what a good thing it would be. It is a delusion under which 
the community labors, that each member claims a head to 
himself, while the rest of the people are clear in regard to 
it, that he has none — only a symbol and an effigy of that 
useful appendage. 

Thus far, then, public opinion and phrenology have ad- 
vanced together. It is settled that there is a difference in 
heads — heads of reality and heads of appearance — heads 
by courtesy, and not of right. But whether the brain be a 
general power, ready to rush with all its force and with equal 
energy in any designated direction, or whether it be a con- 
geries of organs, distinct in function, but living together, so 
to speak, in a boarding-house, sometimes in harmony, but 
anon in antagonism, as often happens with inmates of various 
minds, tempers, fancies, and inclinations, is a matter that re- 
mains open for debate. 

In the case of Quozzle, now — Quintus Quozzle, who is 



124 neal's sketches. 

tioubled with " self-esteem" — what is to be said 1 It is his 
peculiarity to " know better" than anybody else; and how- 
can he help it, that he is so much wiser than every other 
person with whom it is his fortune to meet 1 He could not, 
if he would, prevent himself from knowing better than they, 
even if it were desirable that there should be no display of 
superior intelligence. It is the instinct of Quintus Quozzle 
which operates on such occasions, and instincts are not easily 
to be repressed. Quozzle is not accountable, were it to be 
attributed to him as a fault, for his intellectual superiority to 
the rest of the world. His nicety of mental constitution was 
not a matter of his own choice. 

** I would be a great deal happier, I know I should," said 
Quozzle, when he felt that he was not properly appreciated, 
and had reason to complain of the world's ingratitude, ** if I 
was not more than half as 'cute — to be extra 'cute is more 
of a misfortune than an advantage; and if I was just like 
other people, then I could be as foolish as other people, and 
as happy as other people, because I wouldn't know what a 
fool I was. There must have been some mistake about it : 
I was bom at least a hundred years too soon, and came into 
the world before it was ready for me. No one yet compre- 
hends Quozzle — no one can — it takes Quozzle himself to 
be up to Quozzle, and to appreciate his qualities; and if it 
wasn't for that — if I didn't know what a first-rate fellow I 
am, which is a great comfort, when other folks haven't brains 
enough to find it out — I would be wasted completely. It is 
the only pleasure the Quozzles have, to think how very green 
everybody else is. It makes 'em mad to say so, to be sure ; 
and they take revenge by hinting that I'm crazy ; but it's a 
sort of a tax and a tariff upon first-rate people to be called 
cracked — I don't mind being called cracked — the greatest 
people are always called the crack'dest people, out of 
spite." 

It is even so, Quintus Quozzle. The pioneer has an un- 
plearsant time of it. "He who surpasses or subdues mas- 



QUINTUS QUOZZLe's CATASTROPHE. 125 

kind," must expect scratches in the bramble-bush ; and the 
men of superior views — especially the Quozzles — are 
generally in danger of being set down as a little "cracked." 
It is the short-hand method of disposing of them. 

" When they have nothing else to say — when they can't 
answer, and when they don't understand, they always try to 
get off by telling me I'm cracked ; and then I tell them tnat 
they are in no danger of such an accident — their heads won't 
crack by hard thinking — empty things and soft things never 
crack," added Quozzle. 

It, however, was not voluntary on Quozzle's part, that he 
is thus subjected to detraction. So far as his volition had a 
share in it, he might just as well have been somebody else. 
But since he is Quozzle, it is unavoidable to fulfil his voca- 
tion, and at least to endeavor to set other people right. 
True, they may say that Quozzle is a goose — which, when 
said of any one is apt to be unpleasant, if he happens to 
hear of it. Still, however, there is a balm for all such hurts 
to Quozzle's self esteem, in the reflection that what human 
nature thinks of him, is only an ignorant opinion ; while 
what he thinks of human nature, is an incontrovertible fact 
— a fixed fact. — " What do they know about it, the benight- 
ed individuals V says Quozzle. 

He feels that his perceptions are of a higher power than 
those which appertain to mankind in general ; and with a 
spontaneous waking *' clairvoyance," he sees direct through 
the opacity of millstones. Quozzle, therefore, is never 
puzzled and rarely perplexed, especially in regard to the 
course of action which others should pursue. If they would 
only consult him, no difficulty, impediment, or embaiTass- 
ment, could possibly arise — there would be no such word 
as fail — the mischances which so often occur, spring alto- 
gether from a neglect to take counsel with Quozzle. 

" If people would only take my advice," says Quozzle, 
" they would save themselves from a deal of trouble ; but 
people are so obstinate in their opinions — they insist upon 



126 neal's sketches. 

it that they know best, when I tell them over and over again 
that they don't. They sometimes come to ask me about it, 
to be sure ; and if I think as they do, then they follow my 
advice; but if I don't think as they do — and I don't often 

— then they don't follow my advice. They ought to be a 
law passed to make 'em do as I tell 'em. — There's Stibbins, 
now, with a dozen children — limbs, every one of them. — 

Stibbins,' says I, 'them children of yourn, are decidedly the 
worst children I ever did see ; and it's a fact ; and Stibbins, 
you don't know how they ought to be fetched up, the bar- 
barous young aborigines — whale 'em, Stibbins, night and 
morning; and I don't care if I bear a hand myself — And 
what do you think Stibbins said 1 — why, Stibbins, says he, 
* There's the door, Mr. Quozzle,' says he — ' walk Spanish,' 
says Stibbins, says he, * or I'll be after whaling you, your 
own self;' and he swore his boys were the best boys about." 
In truth, Quozzle has a plan for every case — an alter- 
native for every emergency — he explains the principle of 
the locomotive to an engineer, and endeavors to make the 
captain comprehend the tiTie management of a steamboat — 
when he reads a newspaper, he sees at once that no one un- 
derstand editorship but himself, and when he returns from 
church, he is quite melancholy at the loss society suffers, 
because he had not been brought up to the ministry. ** If 
they would only let me teach them how to write sermons," 
says Quozzle, " good would come of it — I've got the right 
idea — call that preaching, indeed ! — but no one knows but 
me — I'd make 'em understand the eiTor of their ways — I'd 

— but what's the use of talking ? — We must put up with it, 
I suppose ; and it's not my fault there is so much wicked- 
ness about ; for when I call upon those whose business it is 
to see after it, and furnish them with hints, they say, ' Good 
morning Mr. Quozzle — I'm obliged to you, Mr, Quozzle; 
I'm busy just now, Mr. Quozzle ; but I'll think of what you 
suggest, Mr. Quozzle,* and that's the end of it. 

" Why, when I called upon the sheriff and the mayor to 



QUINTUS QUOZZLe's CATASTROPHE. 127 

explain to 'em how to put down riots by using the engines 
and squirting riot out, on the teetotal principle, squenching 
them at once, the people said I was a stupid pump; and the 
constable opened the door and told me to navigate like a 
duck. But cold water is the doctrine, and they'll all have 
to come to it at last. AVho would stand still to be played 
up(m ?" 

Mr. and Mrs. Fubbs did not agree very well — there were 
rumors of fierce discussions over the breakfasL-table ; and it 
was said that " twist-loaves" passed to and fro sometimes in 
the way of a missile ; but when Quozzle went to see them 
on an errand of peace, the result came near being disastrous. 
By way of preliminary, he had merely hinted to Mr. Fubbs 
that he was inclined to be a bear, and had also informed 
Mrs. Fubbs that she was by no means so wise a person as 
she might be, rendering it impossible for them to live com- 
fortably together without his advice — he knew how to gov- 
ern wives and to recrulate husbands — when the contending: 

o o 

forces united against the pacificator, and fairly turned him 
out of doors. 

"You, Quozzle," screamed Mrs. Fubbs, "never let me 
see your ugly face here again the longest day you have to 
live ! — my Fubbs a bear, indeed ! If he did throw a ' twist* 
at me, didn't I dodge V* 

"Put out, Quozzle — I'm getting dangerous — my wife a 
fool, only because she never knows when to hold her tongue, 
or to quit aggrawatin' ! Just say that twice more, and clear 
me of the law !" added Fubbs, assuming a pugilistic attitude, 
as Quozzle disappeared round the corner. 

Quozzle has the genius for criticism in every department 
— there is nothing within the range of human effort, which 
might not be better done, if he were permitted to advise, or 
if he were allowed to undertake the execution tliereof. 
When Macready personated Hamlet, Quozzle smiled rather 
derisively in the midst of the applause ; and when Forrest 
as Spartacus brought down thunders of approbation, Quozzle 



128 NEAL*S SKETCHES. 

was sure that he could have made the character more effect- 
ive. Indeed, in both cases, he satisfied himself of the cor- 
rectness of his impression, by corking his eyebrows and go- 
ing into a tragic phrensy before the glass. No one could 
have been more alarmed than Mrs. Sampler, the landlady^ 
when Quozzle told her to ** go to a nunnery, go !" and poor 
Boots has not completely recovered to this day from the ter- 
ror of it, when, in answer to his humble tap at the door, Mr. 
Quozzle caught up the poker and cried out ** Let 'em come 
in — we're armed!" — Boots rolled headlong down the stairs; 
nor did the added cry of" freedom to gladiators and to slaves," 
serve at all to tranquillize his nerves. He is clearly of opin- 
ion that Mr. Quozzle is affected with the hydrofogy ; while 
Quozzle thinks that but for the accident of position, the 
stage would now be graced with the presence of another 
GaiTick. 

Ole Bull is clever enough in his peculiar department ; but 
yet if Quozzle only had time to attend a little to the violin, 
the public, perhaps, would have the chance to hear a better 
tone and a more touching expression. Quozzle has a theory 
of his own in regard to fiddles. The capabilities of that in- 
strument are not yet fully developed ; and in the other divis- 
ions of musical endeavor, if Quozzle were only a woman, 
Norma would at last have justice done to her. The whole 
neighborhood must be aware of the fact — do they not hear 
Quozzle sing 1 And as for dancing — what nonsense to 
talk about Elssler. Look at Quozzle when he kicks. 

Quozzle, however, is. not quite forlorn upon his Alpine 
height of intellectual eminence. There is one person, at 
least, to treat him with respect and deference — Bob Spanker 
— and Bob never thought that Quozzle had the misfortune 
to be cracked — Spanker never thinks at all — nor had he 
said so, even in the way of joke — Spanker rarely says any- 
thing, and was never known to joke — he abhors joking — 
he can not imagine what it means. Spanker drives a buggy, 
and suffers Quozzle to talk to him and to give him good ad- 



QUINTUS QUOZZLe's CATASTROPHE. 129 

vice. A world of wisdom has thus been addressed to Spanker, 
and Spanker is remarkable for having kept it all to himself. 
They are consequently well calculated to travel together, as 
Quozzle does not keep a buggy for his own use, and as 
Spanker can not always find a companion to ride out with 
him. Quozzle criticises the construction of buggies and 
theorizes upon the art of driving ; Spanker continually keeps 
saying nothing, and is rather soothed than otherwise by the 
hum of Quozzle's voice, the idea not being suffered to 
penetrate. 

It was on an occasion of this sort, that Quozzle and 
Spanker rode down to Point Breeze, it being Quozzle's 
determination to let the folks thereabouts see how the noble 
game of ninepins ought to be played. ** I'll astonish 'em, 
Spanker," said Quozzle, as he took his seat. But he did 
not remain quiet long. 

" See here, Bob," remarked Quozzle, " you don't know 
how — upon my word you don't — see here, now — just lend 
me the whip," and Quozzle took the instrument from his 
hand — "now then — let's pass these fellows — you steer, 
and I'll cut — there's nothing requires more judgment than 
to cut at the light moment — there's a genius in cutting." 

And, after causing the lash to whistle scientifically round 
his head, Quozzle did *' cut" with a vengeance. Spanker's 
horse was indignant at the unwonted infliction and at the un- 
pleasant affliction; and, after rearing and plunging for a mo- 
ment, the outraged animal dashed forward with the speed of 
lightning. 

"Hold him in. Bob! — why don't you hold him in?" 
screamed Quozzle ; " why don't you stop him, as I tell you ?" 

" Why because I can't hold him in," replied the panting 
Mr. Spanker, " and because he won't stop — he'll neyer stop 
any more." 

" Let me," cried Quozzle, somewhat alarmed at the ex- 
tremity of the danger, "let me — you don't know how — you 

pull one rein, and I'll pull the other." But, as in such at- 

9 



130 neal's sketches. 

tempts it is difficult nicely to adjust the balance of power, 
and to preserve a due equilibrium, the vehicle, naturally 
enough, swung round as if on a pivot, dashing against the 
market-cart of an old lady, from " down the neck." Now 
any one who has happened to try the experiment, must be 
perfectly aware that the delicate grace of a buggy, notwith- 
standing its superior costliness, seldom comes in contact with 
the masculine energy of a market-cart, without experiencing 
some degree of detriment, while the cart itself cares little or 
nothing about the matter. Bob Spanker's establishment 
was doomed to realize the philosophical correctness of this 
position, being, as it were, resolved into its original elements. 
As for the horse, he set forth, rapidly enough, on an excur- 
sion of pleasure, to be charged to his own individual account, 
as he did not see that he could be of further use, under all 
the circumstances of the case ; and he carried two little bits 
of shaft with him, as a relic of the catastrophe ; leaving both 
Quozzle and Spanker to repose ignominiously in the dust. 

The old lady, in a charitable manner, placed a cabbage 
under each of their heads, considering the vegetable to be 
appropriately soft and calculated to sooth their anguish, 
and they lay for a time, " like warriors taking their rest." 

** Poor dears," cried the lady, benevolently, '* I shouldn't 
wonder if each of 'em had cracked his calabash, they came 
down with such a squash. Before I could say beans, they 
were both shelled out, and here they are ; they sprung up 
like a hopper-grass, but are cut down like a spaiTow-grass." 

** Who says I'm cracked?" gasped Quozzle ; " I told him 
what to do — but nobody knows what to do, and nobody 
knows how to do it, when they are told, except myself — 
trust 'em and you're sure to be upset. Next time I must 
cut and drive too!" 

It was, therefore, evident enough, that whatever else might 
be broken, Quozzle's organ of self-esteem remained unhurt, 
proudly triumphing over the wreck of carriage and the crash 
of carU Whenever he alludes to the matter, he instances it 



QUINTUS QUOZZLe's CATASTROPHE. 131 

as another evidence of the incapacity of other people to hold 
the reins — nobody knows h(jw to drive but himself If 
Spanker had followed his advice to " hold in," he is sure 
that no mischief could have happened. But it is the inevita- 
ble luck of the Quozzles to encounter mischance through the 
inefficiency of other people — somebody else is always in 
fault; and Quozzle is determined never again to take a 
ride, unless he has the whole and sole control of the enter- 
prise. Spanker is of opinion that Quozzle should pay at 
least half the damage ; but Quozzle objects, on the ground 
that he was only a passenger— according to his view, it is 
a limited partnership in such cases, involving the invited 
guest only to the extent of his neck. 



132 neal's sketches. 



DASHES AT LIFE: 

OR, SPLASHES IN PHILADELPHIA. 

It has always been a favorite scheme with the philan 
thropic to provide bathing for the million, so that every one 
at least once a week, should be enabled to enjoy the luxury 
of a cold bath, in addition to the salutary effects of that spe- 
cies of application ; and accordingly, from time to time, a 
multitude of plans have been proposed to accomplish that 
desirable end, washing for the million ! How much there is 
of tonic influence in the idea 1 How the eyes sparkle and 
the cuticle glows at the thought of these amphibious recrea- 
tions. Water is cheap — water is plenty — there are whole 
rivers, lakes, oceans of water running to waste. But as civ- 
ilized man — man who must live in the close pent city, and 
devote every waking hour to the toil of providing for sub- 
sistence — can not well go to the water, and as the water 
does not come to him in spontaneous lavations, this washing 
for the million remains, throughout the world, rather a mat- 
ter of theory than of practice, and ** the great unwashed" is 
perhaps a phrase of as much import as when it was first 
coined in derision of the unfortunate. 

Thus it is everywhere — almost everywhere — indeed, 
everywhere, except in Philadelphia. No one who walks 
our streets can have reason justly to complain that there is 
anything of niggardliness in the distribution of water here- 
abouts ; and whether you wish the footbath — pediluvium — 
or a showery application to the head and shoulders, you may 
be certain of it that your desires will be gratified to the ufr 




^^^ky:^^^ - 



DASHES AT LIFE; OR, SPLASHES IN THILADELPHIA — Book II, page 132. 



DASHES AT LIFE. 133 

most. In fact, it is not necessary to express a wish to 
this effect. Solicitations are not at all required. It is 
taken for granted here that everybody is in part amphib- 
ious — web-footed — and therefore equally at home in either 
element. 

Come, then, to Philadelphia, if you would enjoy bathing for 
the milHon, in its most perfect and widest application. If 
you are dry and athirst — feverish possibly from a distem- 
pered spirit, or ill-regulated diet — passionate and irascible, 
from what cause you will — we would recommend an after- 
breakfast saunter, especially through the streets where fash- 
ion most resides. Observe, now — there's Sam with a hose 
rising through the sidewalk — Sam's a colored gentleman, 
and therefore fond somewhat of a little brief authority — 
Sam converts the bricked footway, by these processes of irri- 
gation, into the loveliest miniature of a lake that can possibly 
be imagined, while Peter with his broom is particularly 
careful to scatter the waters far and wide, that he may dis- 
cover the degree of science in the art of dancing possessed 
by each by-passer. But busy as they may be thus below, it 
will be found that the series of hydropathic exercises is by 
no means confined to the groundwork of things. In all like- 
lihood, Susan and Nancy are quite as busy at the windows 
of the upper stories as Samuel and Peter have proved them- 
selves to be in the region of the basements ; and conse- 
quently, unless favored with that peculiarity of vision which 
enabled one to glance simultaneously at earth and heaven, 
*' in fine phrensy rolling," as the poets have it, all the care 
used in reference to our footsteps will prove unavailing to 
save our bonnets or our hats. In one way, or in another, 
we are irretrievably lost — splashed, drenched, ducked, de- 
stroyed ! 

Pooh!— talk of Venice — "I stood in Venice," and all 

that, including Jaffier and Belvidera — what is Venice, aquat- 

ically, when measured — liquid measure — "two pints make 

a quart," and so forth — what is Venice, viewed in its hy- 

23 



134 neal's sketches. 

dranlic relationsliips, compared to our rectangular Philadel- 
phia. Venetian canals are slow and slugb^ish — but we dash 
in Philadelphia, and we splash in Philadelphia, and emulate 
the cataracts. Talk, will ye, of the "blue rushings of the 
arrowy Rhone." Wait until you have experienced the rush- 
ings of a bucketful of Schuylkill as it comes down sluicingly 
from third stories ; and then, and there, you will better un- 
derstand the force of projectiles and the peculiar beauties of 
the " douche" as recommended by Priessnitz and the finny 
followers of the school of Graefenberg. Venice, sayest thou ? 
Why ours are living waters that come down upon you, leap- 
ing down, as it were, with loudest laughter, in the wildness 
of their joy. We do not deny it that the gondola may be 
swift as it glides beneath palace- wall — romantic, no doubt, 
if the guitar tinkles and the verses of Tasso are sung; but 
swift, as the gondola may be, we are very sure it does not 
hurry the passenger along so fast as the bucket and the dipper, 
when judiciously applied ; while the paddle and the oar are 
weak indeed as a propulsive force compared to wet brooms 
and twirling mops ; j^nd as for poetry — listen to the excla- 
mations of the drenched stranger, who has not yet learaed 
the art of navigation, and upon whom the floods come una- 
wares. There's poetry, my friend — the utterance of pas- 
sion. The Venetians, forsooth ! — leave them to their stag- 
nant canals, and stroll with us through the streets of 
Philadelphia, if you are an admirer of the picturesque and 
would see water in all the varieties of its display. What is 
there more graceful than water, unsophisticated water, as it 
snorts in unaffected ease, and is thus careless of all observa- 
tioii ? Is it summer ? — you may swim ; be it winter — you 
can slide ; for the seasons make but little difference in our 
fondness for the domestic deluge ; and it is probably an effect 
from this cause, that Philadelphia, with its multitudinous 
spouts, has given so many actors to the stage. 

But " enough of water hast thou, poor Ophelia ;" and we 
shall, therefore, bring our chnpter to a close, desiring all to 



DASHES AT LIFE. 135 

remember that so far as the use and the abuse of water are 
concerned, we are disposed to yield to none. The Croton 
itself can not bring our parallel of latitude in this respect ; 
and if it be your desire to get along sv\timmingly, come to 
Philadelphia by all manner of means. 

Still, however, the aquatic branches above alluded to, are 
not all that spout and flourish in the streets of Philadelphia. 
Formerly, the operations were confined to the sidewalks and 
to the fronts of the houses ; but now — such is the progress 
of luxury — a new and extended method of irrigation is 
adopted, by damming up the gutters during the dry and 
dusty weather, that the somewhat discolored and rather un- 
savory slackwater navigation, which is thus accumulated, 
may be dispersed far, wide, and several times in the course 
of the day, by the skilful and daring hand of some colored 
contractor, in order that the pulverizations of mother earth, 
so ground down and champed up to the minutest fineness by 
the unceasing roll of omnibus and cart, may lie still and 
slumber, for the exemption and the benefit of all the fancy 
establishments of the fashionable streets. This is a new 
peril added to the many which before beset our daily 
walks ; and lucky are they who contrive to pass along 
unspotted from the world. The clear, fresh water is per- 
haps bad enough ; but when it comes to the kennels sown 
broadcast, if we may be allowed the expression, one is to 
be excused if some slight expression of annoyance escape 
the lips. 

It is unnecessary, therefore, to endeavor to delude us with 
flaming placards about ** cataracts of real water," or to strive 
to draw us from our homes by talk concerning the wonders 
in that respect which are to be seen in the course of travel. 
We have all these things at home — displayed at our very 
doors — surrounding our footsteps wherever we may chance 
to go ; and if any one desires to take preliminary lessons in 
the art of " getting along," as practiced in the city of 
"brotherly love," our advice may be briefly convoyed by 



136 neal's sketches. 

reference to the engraving we have given. It requires much 
natural agility — a bound, for example, as quick and as elas- 
tic as the springing of the kangaroo — in eye quick to per- 
ceive, conjoined to mi ear which detects the faintest sound. 
It is a species of ballet, demanding many clstssic poses, and 
as great a variety of steps as ever emanated from the schools 
of Taglioni, Elssler, or Cerito, it being taken for granted 
that every one is acquainted with the customs of the country 

— that none venture into the streets who are not capable of 
taking care of themselves, or that they go forth fully pre- 
pared for any of the consequences that may ensue. It will 
not answer, therefore, to be so absorbed in self as to forget 
all other circumstances, or else the absorption may be ex- 
tended in a manner more consfenial to coolness than to com- 
fort; and so, if all the senses be not possessed in the highest 
perfection — if you are not well qualified for the nicest per- 
sonal management, and are at the same time at all affected 
by the "sad hydrofogie," a walk through the streets of Phil- 
adelphia, especially of a Saturday, has as many perils as 
spring from the uses of cold iron. 

Cleanliness, they say, is next to godliness, and without a 
doubt upon it, cleanliness is one of the most virtuous of all 
the virtues. Hence — by splash of water — we of Philadel- 
phia are disposed to yield the palm to none in whatever goes 
to make up the moral part of character. Do you impugn 
our excellence — deride our benevolence — sneer at our hon- 
esty, or find fault with our public spirit — do you so ] Look 
to the hydrants, the fire-plugs, the washers, and the scourers 

— then assume it if you can, that a spot remains upon our 
reputation. Not a stain could possibly maintain itself there 
for the space of a single week, so obstinate are we in the 
performance of our ablutions ; and should posterity at all de- 
generate, we place the picture given as an evidence on 
record, that once at least we were the best-washed people 
upon the face of the universal earth — second only to the 
mermans and the mermaidcns, who, we doubt not, would 



DASHES AT LIFE. 137 

find in the Philadelpbian a spirit congenial to their own, 
thoucrh we do not often appear in public with a comb and a 
mirror to warn the erring from the rocks. We are a nice 
people — the fact is one that admits of no disputation ; and 
should a second deluge arise, we should be sadly disappoint- 
ed, if we were found unable to float upon the surges that 
overwhelm those less happily constituted. 



138 npat/s sketches. 



THE TRIALS OF TIMOTHY TANTRUM. 

That's a Tantrum. 

No difficulty about it, at all. With ^ordinary discernment, 
you may tell a Tantrum as far as you can see one, by the 
distressed and dissatisfied expression of its countenance — 
** Tantrumical," if we may term it so. A numerous family, 
too, these Tantrums — to be found everywhere in this vale 
of tears ; and few but happy are they who have neither tem- 
porary attachment nor enduring relationship to the Tan- 
trums. Who is there, indeed, even among the most placid, 
that is not more or less, and off and on, affected and afflicted 
by the influence of the Tantrums ? Bar the door as we may 
— resolve against them as we will — the house, we fear, is 
yet to be built which does not at times exhibit traces that 
the Tantrums visit its fireside. It is difficult to rid ourselves 
altogether of the Tantrums, even the wisest and firmest of 
us ; while some people are monopolized by Tantrum, in in- 
finite variety — Tantrumed beyond redemption, in every turn 
of thought and change of feeling. 

But this is only one of the Tantrums — a specimen num- 
ber of the whole work. It is Timothy Tantrum, the Man 
of Trials ; and perhaps — if you have tears — that is, for any 
but yourself — prepare to shed them now — when Timothy 
is to be spoken of, it would not be amiss — in the way of 
condolings — to summon up the sob of sympathy, and to un- 
fold the handkerchief of tribulation. Timothy Tantrum — 
yea, examine him physiognomically — is one of those un- 
lucky personages who are always under a shade, and who 
are attended by a double allowance of shadow. They have 



THE TRIALS OF TIMOTHY TANTRUM. 



139 



„o experience in sunshine, but dwell in the desolate reg.ons 
»f perpetual cloud and everlasting storm. If it is not ram- 
in., there, it snows ; and thus poor Timothy Tantrum car- 
riers the atmosphere of sadness with him wherever he goes 
The barometer falls at his approach, down to "squally, m 
thereabouts; and Timothy Tantrum presents 1"™^«> ^ '^ °^': 
servation as the inevitable i.>dividual who ,s always caught 
in showers without an umbrella-the forlorn one, of a gus.y 
afternoon, that can not overtake an omnibus, and is h.m- 
self alone" as he drips down the street. But w^at is Tan- 
trum, afloat, as it were-what is Tantrum to do? If he 
should run now, all experience shows that the ram would 
only come down the faster-the same quantity in a shortei 
space of time; and if he were to wait for it to stop they are 
but little acquainted with the malign disposition of the ele- 
ments in their bearing on the Tantrums, who are yet to be 
informed that it never stops when Tantrum is wait.ng. 
.. Rather than so," we should have a freshet, if not a de - 
u^e The shower makes it a point never to " hold up till 
all the Tantrums who are out, are wet through and through 
-saturate, Timothy and the rest -and it may be observed 
to clear off. derisively, just as Timothy reaches home in a 

state of damp. 

•' Why didn't you wait till the rain was over ! 

Why % . , 

Timothy Tantrum wrings himself, with the grimmest of 
smiles, but says nothing. Was there ever a rainbow -con d 
there be a rainbow -except at the instant when he had ab- 
sorbed the greatest possible quantity of moisture 1 ihere 
is no such fact on record. 

Unlike Napoleon, Timothy Tantrum has neither a sun ot 
Austeriitz, nor a "bright particular star," to his destiny- 
no star at all, unless it be a star in eclipse, or on the princi- 
ple of Da.'ferwood's " moon behind a cloud." If he has a 
Btar it is r star of the funereal sort- a star with weepers 
Bhinin- black and radiating gloom. Luck ! -has ho luck 1 



140 neal's sketches. 

It must be bad luck, then ; and Timotliy Tantrum considers 
himself as a target, set up for the special purpose of being 
shot at by the arrows of disaster, which hit him invariably, 
whatever be the case with other people. Anything thrown 
out as he comes along, is sure to go right into the eye of Mr. 
Timothy Tantrum, the lineal descendant of that celebrated 
ufferer in a similar way, who, if there be truth in epitaphs 
met his fate " at the hands" of a sky-rocket. It had been si 
with Tantrum, had he been there ; and the other man would 
have gone on his way rejoicing, with all his eyes in his head. 

Tantrum's mind is of that peculiarity in grief, that it 
seems to have " crape on its left arm," not "for thirty days" 
alone, but for ever. It is always in mourning, and has no 
associate except calamity. Should he be surprised and 
overtaken, at an unguarded moment, by a laugh — ha ha! — 
he! he! — ho! ho! and so forth — the outward and physical 
expression of an interior and metaphysical hilariousness — 
it would not only amaze his ears and astonish his unprac- 
tised organs, but he would likewise be convinced that "some- 
thing is going to happen," of a kind calculated to translate 
jocundity to the opposite side of the facial aperture, anti- 
podean to men'iment ; and he thus cuts the risible short off, 
with a look of alarm, lest it should remind misfortune that 
it had not yet completely annihilated Timothy Tantrum. 

As a little boy — "Love was once a little boy," and so 
was Timothy Tantrum — as a little boy, then, he never 
went out without returning in a roar of grief, and in a tem- 
pest of indignation, announcing to all the house that Tim — 
unhappy — was again on hand — somebody had slapped Tim 
— or somebody had tumbled Tim right into the kennel, Tim 
having on his " Sunday's best," to go and see his grand 
mother, illustrating the curious affinity between nicely 
dressed children and the kennel — especially as regards th«. 
Tantrum children — or else Tim's playthings had beei; 
wrested from him — a big fellow had beaten Tim — sponta- 
neously, of course. For he — how could you wrong our 



THE TRIALS OF TIMOTHY TANTRUM. 141 

Timmy so ? — he had " done nothing to nobody" — he never 
did " do nothing to nobody," according to his own account. 
No ! not even to the cur that barked at Tim, and wanted to 
bite him ; it being one of Tim's " features " to be always in 
trouble, but never in the wrong. You see — a conspiiacy 
from the outset against Timothy Tantrum. The world had 
determined, ad initio — that is, from the time he wore frock 
and trowsers — to be continually pulling Timothy Tantrum 
down, and never letting Timothy Tantrum up, the naughty 
world, that always frowns on merit and persecutes the de- 
serving. Why won't it let the Tantrums alone 1 

Investigation, to be sure — but why investigate, to disturb 
your conclusions'? — might discover that "our Tim" — the 
darling — had indulged a little in sauciness to lads not alto- 
gether disposed to pocket it; or that, perchance, he had en- 
deavored playfully to abstract a cheiished bone from curs 
not given to the sportive mood. But here it is again, in 
regard to the Tantrums — Tim was not comprehended and 
understood. He had come in contact with inferior natures, 
incapable of the requisite appreciation ; and, as usual, no 
allowances were made for the child, who only wanted to 
have his own way, after the fashion of the Tantrums, and 
asked for nothing more than that his way should be allowed 
to take precedence of other people's ways ; the trouble, from 
first to last, arising from the oppugnation of obstinacy, which 
forgets that the Tantrums are antagonistic by nature, and 
can not get along at all except in the opposite direction — 
for instance — right against you, and contrary to the general 
grain. Now, it is a self-evident proposition, that if you and 
the general grain are indisposed to yield — ** about face," 
and so — the Tantrums are of necessity crossed, irritated, 
and exasperated, and can have no peace because of your 
belligerant habits of mind, which foolishly lead you to pre- 
fer your own way to the way of the Tantrums — a way that 
they know to be the right way; v^hile your way — indispu- 
tably — is the wrong way — the transgressive way. 



142 nhal's skktches. 

"But," as Timothy Tantrum has judiciously remar'ked, at 
least a thousand times, " it is always cold when I wish it to 
l»e warm; and warm invariably when I desire that it should 
he cold. If I want to go out, then, of course, it's stormy — 
raining cats and dogs ; and when I don't care whether it's 
clear or not, and would rather, maybe, that it was not clear, 
why then it is as bright as a new button, as if it was laugh- 
ing at me. 'Spose I've no use for a thing — it's there, ever- 
lastingly, right in the road — I'm tumbling over it a dozen 
times a day. But when I do want that very thing, is it ever 
in the way then? No, I thank you — no! — it w^ouldn't be 
if it could. And when I hunt it up, if it allows itself to be 
found at all, which it won't if it can help it, that thing is 
morally certain to be the very last thing in the closet, or the 
undermost thing in the drawer. It's the nature of things, 
which are just as crooked and just as spiteful as people are. 
Can anybody ever find his hat when there's a fire? Don't 
the buttons disappear from sleeves and collars whenever 
you're in a hurry to go to a tea-party? And at the very last 
moment — the bell done ringing — all aboard — isn't some- 
thing — the very thing of all other things you ought to have 
— isn't that thing sure to be a mile off, at home, grinning at 
you from the mantel-piece ?" 

No wonder, then, that the Tantrums are always in despair. 
Should Timothy be sent for in haste, the left boot is sure so 
to offer itself that the right foot may be jammed fast in the 
instep — owing, past doubt, to the constitutional perverseness 
of boots, which, if they can not contrive to be too tight, and 
to pinch you into misery, will manage it so as to come home 
•with a sharp peg in their sole, to harrow up your sole ; and 
which never will " go on" of a warm morning, until we have 
toiled and tugged ourselves into fevers for the day. And 
should Timothy, indignant and sudorific, should he, in a spe- 
cies of retributive justice, jerk the aforesaid left boot from 
his innocent right foot, to dash it — the boot, not the foot — 
across the room, as some punishment to its untimely trick- 



THE TRIALS OF TIMOTHY TANTRUM. 143 

is-hness, did any one ever know that boot — still exemplify- 
ing the perverseness of boots in particular, and of things in 
general — to fail in jumping to the very place of all places 
that it should not have gone to — the only place in the cham- 
ber where it could upset a lamp or break a looking-glass ? 
But it is a folly to talk to boots — Tantrum swears at his, by 
the hour, yet finds, after all, that boots are but boots. 

It would be comparatively nothing, however, if such were 
the limit of Tantrum's vexation. He might escape from 
boots, and secure a shelter in slippers. But the hostile alli- 
ance against him is comprehensive — it not only includes 
all the departments of art, but likewise embraces the pro- 
ductions of nature. Should Tantrum's arms stick in the 
sleeve of Tantrum's coat — did that coat, in the pervading 
treachery, and as he thrust his determined arm into it, hesi- 
tate, if it were only for an instant — hesitate to rip in seam, 
or refuse to tear in cloth, in a manner never practised by 
well-behaved coats, and rarely by any coats at all, except 
by the coats of the Tantrums ] Was it not from the fii'st 
like an incubus on Tantrum's mind, that this coat would go 
"all to flinders" on some occasion when he must have a 
coat, and could get no other coat 1 Yes, this identical coat, 
that positively would not come home, try all they would, for 
weeks after it was promised, and appeared to resist every 
effort at finishment. 

And more — in the course of your acquaintance with the 
Tantrums, you must have noticed, of a cold evening, when 
Tantrum desired to " Adonise," that he might be intensely 
agreeable to all beholders, and ** lovelily dreadful" to the 
ladies, that "that razor" would cut his chin in defiance of 
all he could do to the contrary ; and that, besides, the pitcher 
would not have any water in it, the servant would be gone 
out, and the way to the hydrant would be one glare of slip- 
pery ice — a long, complicated conspiracy of things to defeat 
Tantrum's hopes, and to disturb his complacency, if not to 
give Tantrum a tumble. Nay, more — the very pitcher con- 



144 neal's sketches. 

trived to crack, and the basin went to fragments, merely to 
aggravate Tantrum still farther, as he slapped them together, 
in a well-founded scorn of their provoking emptiness ; while 
the candle, too — in emulation of the fires, and in imitation 
of the servants — does it not "go out" whenever Tantrum 
opens doore, or runs in agile movement up the stair 1 And 
should he "send it flying" — as it so well deserves — they 
have studied the characteristics of the candle to but little 
profit, who do not expect, under these circumstances, to hear 
a crash of valuables. Try it, if you are incredulous — just 
leave a candle unwatched, and our life upon it, there will be 
arson and incendiarism in a very little time. It has no 
compunctions about setting the house afire, if it can, that 
candle, meek and innocent as candles always look. Trust 
them not ! 

While it is thus between the Inanimate and the Tantrums, 
the case is but little better, as before hinted, between the 
Animates and the Tantrums. Creation is a porcupinity, 
with its sharp-pointed quills stuck out in all directions, im- 
paling the Tantrums at every movement they may chance to 
make. The universe is a brambledom, for the scarification 
of ankles; and whatever the hand of Tantrum falls upon, 
what else can it be but a nettletop 1 It is all nettletop to the 
Tantrums — for there is nothing innocuous unless we choose 
to take it so ; but the Tantrums will insist on it, that the in- 
nocuousness shall be as they choose to take it, and that all 
the smoothness is to be in their peculiar direction. In con- 
sequence whereof, how the Tantrums suffer in this rasping, 
sand-papered, gritty sphere of fret and friction, to which for a 
time they are doomed, like Hamlet's ghost, ** to fast in fires." 

There is no accordance or concordance in it. We shall 
find it a hopeless task, even the endeavor, simple as it may 
appear, to induce any other man to wear his hat after the 
excellent mode and fashion in which we wear our hat. And 
yeU why should he not 1 Tantrum, at least, can discover no 
flufficient reason for the nonconformity; and he would, on 



THE TRIALS OF TIMOTHY TANTRUM. 145 

philanthropic grounds alone, like to be armed with a power 
to compel that other man to wear his hat correctly. *' Any 
man who persists in wearing his hat at such an angle as that, 
after I have explained the matter to him, must be a fool, if 
indeed he is not something a great deal worse;" and Tan- 
trum tells him so, in the plainest phrase, for the dissemina- 
tion of truth. The same rule, of course, holds good in poli- 
tics, and in all matters of practice and opinion. Yet when 
Tantrum informs people of the fact, without circumlocution 
or indirect phraseology, they quarrel with Tantrum, and call 
Tantrum hard names, and say that they know as well as Tan- 
trum knows, and will continue to do as they please, without 
the slightest regard to the principles laid down by Tantrum 
— and so the world and its affairs go wrong, just as the world 
and its affairs have always gone, and just as the world and 
its affairs will continue to go, all the efforts of the Tantrums 
to the contrary notwithstanding. 

** Where are you running to now V cries Tantrum, sharp- 
ly ; for this unremitting opposition, like a whetstone to the 
knife, will set any one on edge. 

** Home to dinner." 

** Home to dinner ! What do you have dinner at this time 
fori This is no time for dinner. Look at me — I don't go 
to dinner now. Never have dinner, I tell you, till you are 
hungry. I don't — none but fools do !" 

*' But I am hungry now — I want my dinner." 

"You can't be hungry — I'm not hungry — and how can 
you be hungry 1 Do you think I don't know when I am hun- 
gry, and when other people ought to be hungry ? You're not 
hungry — you can't be hungry. It's impossible. You pre- 
tend to be hungry, out of spite — just because I'm not — that's 
the way with everybody." 

And so Tantrum falls out with Greedy, on the question 
of appetite and the proper period of feeling a disposition to 
dine, in which Greedy, like the rest of his class, proves to be 
unconquerably obstinate. Greedy persists in going to dinner 

10 



146 NEAl's SKETCHEg. 

at an improper hour; and Timothy Tantrum is overwhelmed 
with despair at the ignorant contumacy of the Greedies, who 
have been the same ever since the days of Sir Giles Overreach. 

** I'm going to be married, Mr. Tantrum, and desire your 
presence as groomsman." 

" Going to be what ?" exclaims Tantrum, in such tones of 
scornful amazement as could scarcely fail to carry dismay to 
the boldest heart, when placed in the trying position now re- 
ferred to — " Going — to — be — w-h-a-t?" 

" Married," is the trembling response. 

** Jinkins, I should be sorry to be forced, Jinkins, to class 
you, too, among the fools ; Jinkins — I should. Going to be 
married, to be sure! Well ! — I never! Jinkins, did you 
ever know me to marry anybody 1 Jinkins, am I married, 
Jinkins, or am I going to be ] No, Jinkins, you may swear 
to that! — and why should you? Don't, Jinkins — if you 
value my friendship or my countenance." 

But Jinkins insists on being married, in broad contradic- 
tion to all "hat the Tantrums can say, resting his plea of pal- 
liation aiid mitigation on the fact mainly that he is "in love" 
an argument which Timothy Tantrum — like a genuine bach- 
elor, that pernicious species, who are thus by design, perhaps, 
more than by accident, and who have been found audacious 
enough to rejoice in their iniquity — treats with even less of 
mercy than he does other differences of sentiment. 

" If you are in love, why the shortest way is to get out of 
it — I always do — and are you coming for to go for to set up 
as wiser than I am ? — as if I don't know. And who do you 
propose to marry, I should like to learn? Susan Scissors I 
Good gracious — what a choice ! I wouldn't have Susan 
Scissois — am I in love with Susan Scissors? Did you ever 
know me to marry Susan Scissors 1 Why should you ? I 
really can't understand it. To marry, is bad enough of itself! 
But Susan Scissors — whew!" 

And hereupon arose another contention and another divia- 



THE TRIALS OF TIMOTHY TANTRUM. 147 

ion, because Timothy Tantrum was hostile to matrimony m 
general, and to Susan Scissors in particular — forgetting, in 
the first place, that everybody, except the Tantrums, will 
marry, it being a way they have; and that, in the second 
place, it will not do for all the world — the masculine world 
— to affect and to fancy the same individual — Susan Scissors, 
or another — it might lead to trouble. * * * * 

*' That's not the way to bring up a child," says Tantrum ; 
" I wouldn't educate him so. Did you ever know me to fetch 
up a child that way, a spilin' of him, as you do V 

" T never saw you bring up children at all, unless knock- 
ing 'em down, when they come crying in your way, is what 
you call bringing 'em up." 

"What I mean is — do you think that's the way I'd bring 
'em up, if I was to bring 'em up ] I'm not such a goose. 
Did you ever see me" — 

And then Tantrum would enlai-ge upon his theory of train- 
inn- and instruction, until he found that parents and guardians 
were quite as rigid in the wrong, and quite as fond of their 
own erroneous conclusions as all the rest of society. In this 
reo^ard, there was no solace for Tantrum but in one fond ex- 
pectation. 

" Those children will all go to the mischief, that's one great 
and glorious consolation — the girls will run off with some big- 
whiskered, mustached, long-legged, and long-nosed swindler, 
who'll beat 'em well, and send 'em home at last, with large 
families of little people — that's one of the consequences of 
not minding me. And as for the boys, those that don't dis- 
appear some day, nobody knows where, may be looked for 
in the penitentiary, never coming to no sort of good ; and 
then I can drop in sociably to inquire about them at homo, 
and the way I'll ask the folks if they 'marked my.woids' 
when I said how it would end, will be what they won't for- 
get in a hurry — I can promise them that beforehand I and 
Tantrr.m for once chuckled with glee. * * * * 

In ihe affairs of medical science, also, Timothy Tantrum 



]48 neal's sketches. 

was equally learned, but as equally unfortunate. But, as 
nobody would pursue his system of practice, he still consoled 
himself with giving the recusants a bit of his mind, which is 
not often the most agreeable present that can be bestowed — 
and, in the second place, should the results prove fatal, as 
results sometimes will, why didn't Timothy Tantrum say how 
it would be 1 

But no man is altoo^ether without refuo^es and resources — 
we all have something to fall back upon ; and Timothy Tan- 
trum, in the midst of the contumelies of an unappreciating 
world, where none will do as he thinks every one should do, 
derives solace and refreshment for his spirit by going a fish- 
ing, alone by himself, with a patent-rod and a red cork. When 
he succeeds in setting the household by the ears, and has 
got the whole neighborhood comfortably in an uproar, he 
then — quietly — like Sylla abdicating — travels off to fish. 
Fishes have this advantage as companions — they bite, and 
say not a word ; or, if they do not bite, they never make 
jeering remark, or indulge in provoking argument ; so that 
one may be as philosophical and as splenetic as he likes 
when he is fishing, without risk of being ** aggravated." But 
even here, drawbacks to the perfect felicity will intrude them- 
selves. We want to catch a fish, it may be; and that fish, 
however sensible in the main, has not arrived at a perfect 
conclusion in himself whether he is hungry or not, coquetting 
with the bait, yet refusing it — ungrateful fish, after so much 
trouble has been encountered for his especial entertainment. 
There is a crookedness, too, in hooks, that attaches itself to 
weeds and roots, if not to garments, and to the fleshy integ- 
uments beneath. But worse than all is it when we — the 
Tantrums — are established in just the sort of nook we liave 
been looking for all day, to be pounced upon in our soliloquies 
by some ragged and vociferous urchin, with a ponderous dog 
of the amphibious breed, who will have it that Carlo shall 
" go in and fetch it out," right upon our piscatorial premises, 



THE TRIALS OP TIMOTHY TANTRUM. 1 10 

to our discomfiture and to that of the finny tribes — Carlo, 
who surges like a diving elephant, and who comes out to shake 
himself at our elbow, like the spray of cataracts. And Nico- 
demus swims horses, too, at the same appalling instant. Who 
can be surprised that Timothy Tantrum, in an effort to better 
his condition, broke his patent angling-rod in an ineffectual 
blow at the aforesaid ragged and vociferous urchin, or that he 
fell into the creek by an injudicious striving to administer a 
kick to the ponderousness of Carlo 1 Both of these move- 
ments were natural enough ; and the consequent disasters, 
what were they but a link in the chain of annoyance con- 
nected with the life and misfortunes of the Tantrum family 1 

"Just exactly what was to be expected," growled Tantrum, 
as he wandered home, moist and disconsolate ; ** it's always 
so when I undertake to teach manners to boys and genteel 
behavior to the dogs. My best intentions are thrown away, 
on everybody. I've broke my rod, and the boy's not a bit 
the wiser; I've tumbled in the creek, and the dog's as impo- 
lite as ever. And now, I've a great mind to let everybody and 
everything take its own course, without bothering myself any 
more. I don't see that I've got anything yet for my pains, 
though I've fretted all my hair off, and scolded my teeth out. 
It's easier, I guess, and more profitable, to make the best of 
things as they are, now I find that they wont be any other 
way ; and I would, if it wasn't that I know I know better about 
things than other people — what's the use of knowing you 
know better, if you don't make other people know you know 
so? Whatever is, is wrong — all but me — I'm clear as day- 
light as to that; but I wont cry about it any longer. Perhaps 
when Timothy Tantrum's dead and gone, they'll begin to dis- 
cover there was somebody here when he was alive. But they 
won't before, for they haven't yet — they're too obstinate — 
and while I'm waiting to be understood and appreciated, I'm 
half inclined to begin to take the world easy, and enjoy my- 
self, like the foolish people, who don't know any better.'' 
24 



ir*o — ' 



NEAL S SKETCHES. 



THE LIONS OF SOCIETY 

POTTS, PETERS, AND BOBUS. 
" Another lion gave a grievous roar ; 



And the first lion thought the last ' a bore.' " 

BOMBASTES FURIOSO. 

Lions ! — yes — every collection, zoological or otherwise, 
Jnust have its lions. Without them, it is incomplete — defi- 
cient it what may be termed its rallying point or nucleus. 
What, for instance, would be the menagerie — and it is, more 
or less, all menagerie, "here upon this ground" — without a 
smart sprinkling of lions ] We admit that the elephant is a 
respectable, solid individual, in his way — prosy, however, 
and not at all of a sparkling nature. And your monkey, 
provided he be not sick — there is nothing sadder than your 
sick monkey — monkeys ought to be exempt from sickness 

— he may be droll, as he catches the apple or cracks a nut 

— doleful drollery chough, as that drollery must ever be in 
which we discover how narrowly the most of us escaped 
from being monkeys. But still, these things — monkey, 
elephant, and all — can not satisfy the reachings of the soul ; 
and we turn from them in weariness to ask, "where is the 
lion ? — let me hear a lion roar!" We are imposed upon, 
if we can not find a lion. 

And so it is in the circles of society. Each must be pro- 
vided with its lion. Nay, it is indispensable that there should 
be several lions, of different forces and dimensions, to vary 
the scene, or to be produced in the absence of each other. 
But not two of a similar kind, at the same moment. Such 
lions never agree, on account of that dislocation of noses, to 



THE LIONS OP SOCIETY. 151 

which, by such collision, they become subject ; and if you 
have ever noticed the fact — perhaps you have felt it, as all 
of us play the lion's part, more or less, at intervals — but if, 
either way, you may chance to have observed it, this truth 
is familiar, that there is nothing more dangerous than a lion 
w^ith his "nose out of joint." — The moody ferociousness 
exhibited under such circumstances, is a matter which, ac- 
cording to the popular phrase, is not to be sneezed at, even 
by one who happens to be worse off than the aggrieved lion 
himself, in the d' licate particular of noses. A lion's nose is 
his thermometer of health and barometer of temper. — Put 
that out of place — ay, but sprain a lion's nose, however 
slightly, and the attempt to play with him is a fearful risk. 
He is sure to snap your nose off. 

To know a lion — what may be described as a good sizeable 
lion — such a one as plays the lion, wherever he goes — 
among the " upper ten thousand," or amid the substratum 
of ** the masses" — one of your dauntless lions, who con- 
fidently sports his mane and his claws in all possible situa- 
tions, and has that pervading sense of his own immensity, 
that he is the lion — equally — at your house, or at home — in 
the kitchen — for even the kitchen has its lions — or in the 
presence of all imaginable quantities of wisdom, wit, beauty, 
rank and fashion — there being "comparative lions," who 
lionize according to the chance — but we allude to the 
"positive lion," who is invariably himself — if you would 
know him, then, the discovery may be made in various ways. 
"When you feel patronized, as it were, in society, and can not 
tell exactly why, as you do not seek for patronage particular- 
ly, at that moment, a shrewd suspicion may be indulged that 
you are in the presence of a lion. A lion, too, condescends 
— his whole deportment announces the fact to the bystanders 
that " now the lion condescends," for the encouragement of 
people — little people — such as have nothing of the leonine 
growth about them. The lion pats, that you may not be too 
much overcome by his austere dignity — he will not eat you 



152 neal's sketches. 

up — though he could do it, and he wishes yoa to see that 
he knows he could do it — he is not hungiy now, the amia- 
ble lion. But the undoubtable sign that Leo approximates 
— if it be not felt mesmerically — is in the eclipse that falls 
around. No one now says, ** how dee do-o," to you — give 
it up at once, loquacious friend — nobody listens to your 
nan'atiwe — your pun provokes no smile — your jest can 
draw no laughter. But a few moments since, perhaps, and 
you were in feather — a larger estimate than usual of the 
entertaining qualities which you had derived from nature, 
began to warm your heart and stimulate your brain — a 
thought, perchance, that if not a whiskered lion of the tribe 

— adult, mature, consummate — you were at least a promising 
cub of the same species. But now, how shrunk — what an 
insignificancy of contraction! — The matter? — Can't you 
see? — Why, man, the lion's come — the lion past dispute 

— the real, uncontested thing. There is a dislocation, for 
the time, of your beloved nasal promontory. Go — for now 
you are "no go" — the game is up. Our meaning here is 
aptly illustrated by the accompanying engraving, and which 
might properly be termed, " A Discomjiture of the Lesser 
Lions ; or, the Extinction of the Rtishlights.^' 

There was a gathering at Brown's — of beauty and of 
chivalry, as any one may see. Potts was there, and Peters 

— social lions of the smaller gi'owth. Potts did the sublime 
and beautiful — Potts is literary — and Peters was strong 
upon the queer and quaint — Peters is a wag. Never was 
there a more delightful party. Potts talked romance and 
reason, politics, poetry, and polemics — soaring upward — 
wondrous Potts ! — like an eagle from its eyry ; and Peters 
followed, quizzical, playing upon words in the centre of 
** Giggledom." Potts secured the solid sense of the meeting 

— the matrons circled round him — bald heads and spectacles 
were there, to feed on wisdom. ** A great man is Potts," 
said they; "sensible to the last;" and Potts grew wiser 
as he glanced reprovingly back to "Giggledom" — listen 



THE LIONS OF SOCIETY. 153 

young ladies, and be improved — where Peters flashed and 
coruscated like the uncorking of champagne. A funny man 
was Peters then, and " Giggledom" rejoiced. The more 
philosophical Potts became, the wittier was Peters, as if 
these antagonist forces acted and re-acted on each other to 
the production of a power which neither had exhibited be- 
f )re. Potts, indeed, thought that if it were possible for man 
to be more rational, acute, and sagacious, than he now proved 
himself, it would scarce be possible for such a man to live, 
and that when he died, as die he must, the world would cut 
him up into schools, colleges, and other seats of learning and 
profundity — he felt convinced, moreover, that it would, 
when he was out, be advisable always to have reporters near, 
that he might be published — a serial — in continuous num- 
ber, at a fip a week, as a living ** Library of Useful Knowl- 
edge." Potts could not admire himself enough, as by far 
the ablest individual that he ever knew — while Peters was 
assured, that if he (Peters) should get any funnier as the 
night wore on — he did not believe it possible — there never 
was anything funnier — but if he (Peters) should grow fun- 
nier — and it would not be practicable for him (Peters) to 
help it — why then it would be impossible for other folks to 
live. He (Peters) would be the death of them. Somebody 
ought to hold him (Peters) — in mercy, hold him. 

Both Potts and Peters were impressed with a full belief, 
that clever — English clever — as they always were, still on 
this memorable evening, they were — Potts to Potts and 
Peters to Peters — immeasurably superior to themselves. 
Potts, in short, was not sure whether it was himself or not; 
and Peters escaped the doubt only from knowing that he could 
not easily be any one else, or rather, that it was out of the 
question for any one else to be him. How pleasant it is to 
be satisfied that no other person can be you — that you are 
unique. 

But suddenly — a catastrophical suddenly — in walked 
Bobbs — ** B. Bobus Bubbs, Esq." — " Goodness, gracious, 



154 neal's sketches. 

if here isn't Bobbs ! — my ! — I thought Bobbs would never 
come! Oh! how glad — Bobbs! — such a pleasure — 
Bobbs ! — quite delighted — Bobbs !" 

** As I was saying," continued Potts, beginning to quail, 
*' as I was about to say, to show the rationale of the matter 
Mrs. Brown — " 

"Never mind now, Mr. Potts," rejoined Mrs. Brown, 
** there's Bobbs at last ;" and Mrs. Brown darted away, 
leaving Potts in soliloquy. 

** But the best of the joke was, ladies," whimpered Peters, 
under a foreknowledge of his fate, "the best of the joke — " 

"Bobbs!" ejaculated the young ladies, wild with delight, 
and Peters was alone. 

" Potts ! — Bobbs !" said Peters. 

" Peters ! — Bobbs !" replied Potts. 

And on reference again to the picture, their relative ex- 
pressions may be seen, Potts endeavoring to muster courage 
to stand his ground — Peters getting indignantly out of the 
way. Bobbs is the largest lion of the town, and they know 
it. Bobbs, who is as philosophical and as funny as both 
Potts and Peters combined, is evidently provoked at their 
presumption in his absence ; and Potts and Peters, after 
vainly endeavoring to resist the current of opinion by sly in- 
sinuations against the merits of Bobbs, at last betake them- 
selves, silently and sullenly, to chicken salad in a corner. 
Always retreat on chicken salad. 



Lions are diverse and different. There is your musical 
lion, who is sometimes a bore — your scientific lion, who is 
apt to be an ass — your political lion, who is frequently a 
nuisance, and your funny lion, who, on occasion, is dull 
enough. The handsome lion is not often endurable ; but the 
dandy lion is at least harmless if he pays his tailor's bill. 
And following these, we find literary lions, gymnastic lions, 
lions in buggies and on horseback — fast-trotting lions, are 
they — military lions — in fact, every jungle has its lion, big 



lAE LIONS OP SOCIETY. 165 

or little — not one of which, except as aforesaid, in the way 
of condescension, will permit others to slip in a word edge- 
wise. Those who are not lions themselves, are born for no 
other purpose but to admire the lions. Gentle reader, if 
you are not a lion already, try to be a lion, with all your 
might and " mane.*' 



156 ' 



NEAL S SKETCHES. 



DAVID DUMPS, 

THE DOLEFUL ONE. 

The majority of people are in the Dumps only at times 
— the most stormy of lives has its gleams of sunshine, and 
perhaps there are few among men whose existence is a night 
BO dark that no star of hope appears. Even melancholy itself 
has its reactions, as the criminal on the rack is said to sleep 
in the intervals of torture, and thus to gain strength for added 
suffering. One can not be always weeping, and there must 
be a pause in sorrow. The Dumps then, as a general thing, 
do not prevail in every bosom without the grace of intermis- 
sions of relief ; and, for the most part, there is quite as much 
of smiles and laughter in this world, as there is of doleful 
groaning. You, for instance, are in tears to-day, while your 
neighbor jests right merrily, the loud outbreak of his mirth 
jaiTing on your lacerated nerves, as you wonder how it is 
that men can thus be ** pleased with a rattle, tickled with a 
straw," while you suffer like Guatemozin on his bed of coals, 
But be then of good heart, friend — let not the soul within 
thee break down as without hope. It may be but a little 
time — a week, perchance — a month then — or what if it bo 
a year — before you shall be as gamesome as a kid, while the 
dark shadow of tribulation rests upon your neighbor's head. 
All evils cure themselves in one way or another. A grief 
can not be eternal, or if the evil must endure, why, we grow 
callous at the last, and cease to feel its pressure. That is, 
the most of us are in this way affected, having the Dumps 
only upon occasion, to give effect by the force of contrast, aa 
it were, to the more pleasant passages of our career on earth. 



DAVID DUMPS. 157 

All sights and sounds can not for ever remain as disagreea 
ble to you as they now appear — the light of the blessed sun 
shall not always be more oppressive than the darkness, which 
it chases away ; and depend upon it, unlikely as the realiza- 
tion of the promise now seems, we all may smile again. 

All smile again — yes, all but David — he never has smiled 
yet — how can he smile again ? David has no lot or part in 
such business. His life is a matter far too serious for trifling 
divertisement of that sort; and we doubt whether cranks 
or pulleys, or any of the complex arrangement of rope, block, 
and tackle, could be made to elevate the corners of his down- 
cast mouth even to the level of a simper. Archimedes him- 
self, with all the resources of mechanical invention, must fail 
in the effort to extend the corners aforesaid from ear to ear, 
according to the practice of most people when tickled by a 
conceit ; and were his countenance thus forcibly opened by 
crowbar or by cable, what good could it possibly do when 
David's vocal apparatus is altogether incompetent to the 
formation of those sounds which are indicative that fun holds 
revel in the halls of the brain 1 Nay, David would thus look 
sadder far than ever he did before — for what is more sad — 
more chillingly melancholy, than the mere forms and sem- 
blances of smile and mirth when the soul denies illumination 1 
It is the ghastly grinning of a skeleton — the cadaverous ex- 
pression of a corpse — we pray you to let that mc^uth — the 
mouth of David — let it alone as it falls. We doubt whether 
any change that you could make, would be at all for the bet- 
ter. Gloomy as the natural David may appear, there are no 
artificial arrangements that can be contrived to improve him. 
Rouge to his cheek or roses in his hair, would that afford to 
David a more cheerful aspect 1 — Do not think it. 

The truth of the matter is, that while you or I, in the way 
of recreation are temporarily miserable and occasionally dis- 
tressed, the miserables and the distresses are David's natu- 
ral, habitual, and original condition. For his name is Dumps 
— David Dumps, at your sei*vice — not Dumps now or Dumpa 



158 neal's sketches. 

then ; but invariably Dumps, suing and sued in that delight- 
ful name. When constables apprehend him, they soon com- 
prehend that they have the Dumps. Having commenced 
crying at his first appearance on the stage of life, as nearly 
everybody does — ** our pilgrimage begins in tears" — Dumps 
has gone directly onward in the same strain of dolor as at 
first — weeping, and wailing, and gnashing his teeth, as he 
passes by. He cries aloud at all times and seasons, so that 
he is " like loftiest peaks," surrounded by fogs and mists im- 
penetrable to the sun of gladness. His summit is a glacier 
where nothing grows, and the brightest beams of noon only 
thaw tears away, which do not improve the general aspect. 

Dumps — David — has it in his power — for he continu 
ally exercises himself in the art — to sorrow over all things ; 
but what especially provokes him, and he falls back upon it 
as a species of reserve in the battle of life, when no partic- 
ular distress sets in to goad his sides, is the general unhap- 
piness of human condition, as compared to the "jolly times," 
to use his own phraseology, which the inferior animals have 
of it. 

"Dave — you, Dave — it's time to get up and kindle the 
fire ! Get up, this minute, and don't make me come there 
after you." 

Now such a call as this, of a bitter cold morning — in a 
room uncarpeted, with the outward atmosphere whistling in 
through chinks and crannies, and penetrating broken panes, 
ill stopped by antiquated hats and rejected trowsers, can not 
be regarded as a musical call, even if uttered by the sweet- 
est of voices — for David Dumps was coiled up warmly, for- 
getting his sorrows in the depths of slumber, and bidding 
them defiance in a snore as haughty and fearless as the 
sonorous brass of bold dragoonery. 

"You, Dave!" 

** Augh-waugh," responded Dave. 

Words, you know, are idle in an emergency — who wastes 
words in a crisis such as this ? The next thing David knew 



DAVID DUMPS. 159 

was the unwelcome visitation of a sufficient quantity of the 
coldest water to his sublime but sleeping countenance ; and, 
as the usual result in all aquatic and amphibious experiments 
of this sort, David sat bolt upright and wide awake at once. 

" Now, make the fire, or you shall have some more water." 

There are two ways of impressing the memory. A con- 
genial association of ideas will do it ; and so will the most 
diverse and opposite commingling of thoughts. There is a 
sharp, pungent irony in dashing one's face with cold water 
to make one get up to kindle the fire, which prevents the 
hint from being wasted. In such a case, it is not easy to 
forget, though even the meekest spirit lodged in the thickest 
skin, is apt to feel vengeful and resentful, on such occasions ; 
and if you are the person who distributed the water, take 
timely care that the ways of swift retreat are clearly open 
behind you — for we have known disaster to be the result of 
oversights in this respect. To be drifted from slumber by 
water conveyance, never yet soothed anybody's temper — the 
mildest are apt to swear — the most peaceful will become 
belligerent. 'Tis best to evaporate at the instant of the 
sprinkle, before eyes are opened wide enough to take an 
aim with boot, or shoe, or clothes-brush. No fear that the 
sleeping will be resumed. 

David did arise, like a mermaid or a river-god, but in no 
gentle frame of mind. As he always got up crossly, and 
with emotions somewhat savage at being obliged again to 
mingle with life's harsh realities, he was as near frantic now 
as may be. To make the fire was an imperative necessity, 
and it was made with that commingling of "fire and fury," 
which furnishes evidence of the sulkiness and aggravation 
that reign within. The pussy that purred in the corner — 
the dog that stretched upon the hearth, both received abrupt 
evidences that David Dumps was in a state of extreme dis- 
pleasure. 

But it so happened that, as he struck them, an idea struck 
him, as if the collision had elicited a spark which fired up 



160 neal's sketches. 

the magazine of his brain. But, account for it as you may, 
there can be no doubt of the fact, that Dumps did catch an 
idea at the aforesaid moment. Not an idea of the ordinary 
description, such as are continually tumbling through men's 
minds, leaving no impression of any value behind them — - 
ideas that would not bring sixpence for a hundred in the in- 
tellectual market, and which are by no means a fruitage wor- 
thy of any species of presei*vation; but an idea of that grand 
and comprehensive force of generalization, which set David 
Dumps up in business as a philosopher for the rest of his 
life, rendering him as nearly good for nothing, as his most 
ardent admirer could desire. It was a leading idea, to which 
David Dumps could bend all things, and from which he 
could, at any moment, deduce the most bitter of dissatisfac- 
tions. David stood with his mouth open to its full extent 
that the idea aforesaid, as it knocked againt his cranium for 
admission, might be swallowed whole, which, possibly, is the 
reason why so many people open their mouths extensively 
at strange sights and unaccustomed words, the eye and the 
ear not being sufficient to receive the impression. Always, 
therefore, do the like when you wish to understand anything 
completely, and wear your mouth ajar at all times and sea- 
sons ; for who knows what you may catch, if the trap be 
always set and ready to spring upon anything that passes. 

But when David Dumps felt that he had secured the new 
idea, he shut his mouth with a snap, to make all safe, that his 
new idea might not fly out again as rapidly as it had gone in. 
Besides, he had gained wisdom enough for one day — as 
much, indeed, in his private opinion, as others collect in the 
whole course of their mortal lives ; and he felt also that, per- 
chance, he might injure himself and bring on mental dispep- 
sia, if there should be any sudden addition to the dose of 
wisdom which he had just taken. We must allow due time 
for the new idea to become assimilated to the old stock of 
intelligence, before we increase the supply, or the whole 
establishment may be thrown into inexplicable confusion. 



DAVID DUMPS. 161 

" Some people," remarked David^ after a long pause, in 
the course of which his nose hitched itself into wrinkles of 
supreme contempt, " some people never know nothing more 
than they know'd at first ^ — they only know what they are 
told, and couldn't find a thought for themselves if it was a 
laying right before them squeaking to be taken up. There's 
not many that ever ketch an idea on their own hook ; and 
they couldn't, if ideas were as thick as huckleberries on a 
bush. It takes such folks as me, who have heads for use 
and not for show, to discover the wisdom that's to be found 
in things. And so, while other people are laughing and re- 
joicing in their foolishness, because they can't see straight, 
you may hear me groaning at least a mile off, because I can 
see right through everything. 

** Now as to them dogs and them cats. It appears to me, 
though I can't say I ever heard 'em at it — but it appears 
to me that they must be laughing at us all the time — for 
thoy are always idling or sleeping or feeding at our cost and 
expense, while we are at work from the time we get up till 
we go to bed again. What do they do, I'd like to know, 
but canceuvre round to enjoy themselves, while we have to 
get up and make fires, and cook wittals as much for them as 
for ourselves? — Oh, yes — warn and stretch, doggie — look 
at me lazy with your eyes half shut, for its me that's at work, 
not you. And now the fire burns a little, down you go in the 
warmest corner, as if you were one of the upper ten-thou- 
sanders, and had your boots cleaned every day by a colored 
pusGun. You don't have to pay taxes, nutther, nor milishy 
fines — we have to go to market for you and let you in when 
you scratch at the door. And so, get out, warmint !" and 
])avid lent the dog another kick — kicks being always lent, 
as the greatest favor, while blows, being cheaper, are freely 
given — lent the dog another kick, which put to flight at once 
not only the quadruped itself, but likewise all that quadruped's 
serenity of mind, while the cat, as another of the aristocratic? 

11 



162 neal's sketches. 

circles, met with very nearly a similar fate, both retiring with 
doleful lamentations. 

" That's some comfort anyhow — if I can't make you work, 
I can make you sing out, which is very nigh as good ;" and 
so with some slight emotion of pleasure, down sat David 
Dumps, to warm himself and meditate still further upon the 
idea which he had partially broached as above, that in the 
main, the beasts, and the birds, including the fishes, are much 
better off in this world than David Dumps or any of his kind. 

And it is a favorite topic of discourse with him even now, 
when grown unto man's estate of length of limb and anxiety 
of mind — 

" Lord of himself, that heritage of wo" — 

his thoughts are full of the injustices of natural history; 
and if it were not that through man's peculiar cunning, some 
part of the animal creation has nearly as hard a time of it as 
Dumps himself, it is a doubt whether Dumps would consent 
to remain in the world at all, if he could find any particularly 
easy and pleasant way of getting himself out of it. 



A cigar-shop is the natural resort of the meditative and 
inquiring. Smoke and speculation combine in perfect beauty, 
while the argument and the tobacco consume themselves 
together, leaving little but ashes behind. Men of the think- 
ing sort, are fond of congregating of evenings at the cigar- 
shop, where and at which time, politics, war news, anecdote, 
and metaphysics, are particularly rife. Yes, if you would 
note the current feature of the time, go to the barber's in the 
morning, and stop for your cigars at night. 

The cigar is the smoke pipe of the great social locomo- 
tive, and puffs it along, giving force to thought and fluency 
to expression. No great plan is laid — no grand project 
conceived, without the agency of cigars — at all " preparatory 
meetings," where two or three concoct public opinion for 




DAVID DUMPS. 163 

the masses, the cigar opens the debate and sharpens the wit 
for discussion. Smoke, smoke is the mighty propulsive force 
of our country ; and things will never go quite properly until 
the judge lights his regalia on the bench, and the juror sports 
his favorite brand in the box. Then, and not till then, will 
justice go like smoke. 

Is talking your forte 1 — go to the cigar-shop, that you 
may be sure of an audience. Would you rather listen to the 
experiences of others, get thee to the cigar-shop, for budding 
oratory there holds forth, with chequers, perchance, or 
dominoes, in the little back-room. David Dumps is, of 
course, a smoker — a man of sorrow is almost always a man 
of addiction to the weed, for what of comfort can he else- 
where find 1 

And so in full divan, seated beneath the wooden High- 
lander, who is always taking snuff, there — even there at 
Quiggs's cigarrery, David Dumps had broached it as a truth 
not to be controverted, that with the exception of his igno- 
rance of the various uses of the divine weed, it were better 
to be a dog than such a Roman. 

'* That's my candied opinion, any how," said Dumps, dog- 
gedly, almost barking as he spoke. 

** Nothin's never right with Dumps," observed a fat 
gentleman with a rosy physiognomy, who looked as if 
everything agreed with him, just as he agreed with every- 
thing. 

" Dumps, Dumps, Dumps," remarked another individual, 
with a considerable quantity of whisker, round which the 
smoke curled as if they were burning brush on the premises ; 
" Dumps, what possible use can there be in your groaning 
all the time over what can not be helped? — It's very clear 
to me. Dumps, that you were not born to set the world to 
rights, and to fix everything over again just to suit yourseif. 
It wouldn't be fair, Dumps, you see, even if it could be done, 
because may be, I shouldn't like it then any more than you 
like it now ; and so, every man would be obligated to have a 



164 neal's sketches. 

little world all to himself; and hire a star to live in, the same 
way that people hire houses, paying rent by the quarter. 
See here. Dumps — if you happen to know any man that's 
rich enough to keep a grindstone, you had better go and have 
yourself made a little smoother about the edges. You're 
BO rough now, that you hurt yourself and everybody else. 
If the world don't suit you, there's nothing for it but to make 
yourself suit the world. That's the way I do." 

" Yes, yes. Dumps — try to be a man," remarked another 
— "be a reasonable critter, that puts up quietly with what 
he can't help — for Dumps, you'll find that you must put up 
with it whether or no, and growling is just so much of labor 
wasted. Wise folks never complain — they go right off and 
get a cigar orafip's worth of cavendish, to sooth the feelin's. 
Be a man, Dumps — a reasonable critter." 

** A man, indeed," retorted Dumps, morosely rejoiced at 
the opportunity thus afforded to ring in his favorite idea — 
" a pretty thing to be proud of —being a man. Why, what's 
a man, I'd like to know, to have to work and to scramble 
all the time for a miserable living, and then not to be able 
to get more than half a one, if you get thati — For my part, 
I'd be anything rather than a man. Nobody has good times 
in this world but the unreasonable critters, and they make 
their living easy. — Tell me, now, who asks a bird to pay up 
for what he wants 1 — He has no bill to trouble him but his 
own bill — that's his due-bill. The cats, and the dogs, and 
the cattle — they play all the time if they want to — sleep 
and play. If it wasn't that the city-dogs has hard times of 
it in summer, when they're out and forget their muzzles, 
I'd get right down on all fours and bark — I'd join the 
bow-wow chorus, as the only free and independent set that's 
going." 

" But the horses, Dumps, and the mules, and the oxen — 
they are not much better off than you are." 

** Very true ; and there's some little comfort in that, as 
there is in a peep at the menagerie where they stir up the 



DAVID DUMPS. 165 

animals and make them roar and growl for a living, like the 
tragedians at the theatre, though the animals don't get so 
much for the job. But that has nothing to do with the gen- 
eral principle, that in this world the reasonable critter has 
decidedly the worst of it in every possible p'int of view. Oh, 
what a blessed thing it would be, if we lived by suction, and 
had feathers — that's the grand idea I'm driving at — nateral 
clothing — spontaniferous jackets, and free gratis trowsaloons, 
with nothing to do but open our mouths when we want our 
dinner. Do chickens learn a trade, and are cockrobins 
bound 'prentice ? Are calves sent to school, or did you ever 
see a brindled cow trying to get a discount from the bank 1 
Do rabbits go about to borrow money in great haste when 
it's near three o'clock, or must poodle-dogs shy round the 
corner when they see creditors coming 1 — No ; it's left for 
me and for you to be full all the time of botheration and 
vexation, to keep life in our precious bodies. We doJi't lie 
down in the grass, to nibble a bit of clover between sleeps 
— you never saw me flutter up an apple-tree, to roost, with 
my head poked under my wing, or sitting with the pigeons 
atop of a chimbly, with no care on my mind only as to where 
1 should fly to next, for the sake of fun. A man must not 
coil himself up on a cellar-door when the sun shines, or he'll 
be tuck up right away, as a fellow with no visible signs of 
living, when if rights was rights, all he should want as a 
visible sign of living would be a pretty good-sized mouth 
of his own, with a tolerable supply of teeth in it. Natur* 
ought to finish all we want to bite; and what we should have 
to do would be to have ourselves provided with something to 
bite with ; and I'm pretty well off* as to that. Give me the 
eatables, and I'll be bound to find whatever else is needed to 
make out my dinner. But, no — not at all — that's not the 
way the world is carried on under the present system of 
operations. Natur' doesn't care how great your appetite is. 
She never minds if you're as hungry as a hawk. Sposin* 

you were to do as the animals and the birds do — take what 
25 



166 neal's sketches. 

you want and gobble it right up, why then they open a big 
book and say it's larceny — and so off you're sent to Miamen- 
iin for a year or two, to learn better manners. Now did 
you ever see a burglarious sheep in the Black Maria, or a 
thieving chicken going along with a constable holding by the 
cuff of its neck 1 I guess not — all these little comforts are 
kept for the reasonable critters — nobody else has the enjoy- 
ment but only men, and much good it does them. Be a man, 
indeed ! — that's the worst of it. I am a man already, and am 
willing to swop places with almost anything that isn't a maq. 
I'd rather be a sunfish dodging about in the canal, to get clear 
of the boys with their pin-hooks, than to be the president of 
the United States, who always has trouble about him quite 
as big as his salary." 

Having thus unburthened his mind of the great idea that 
it did groan withal, David Dumps set forth with the largest 
of all possible cigars in his mouth, being firmly of the im- 
pression that one's cigar should be proportioned to one's sor- 
row. A little cigar is an amusement, while it requires a big 
one to be a consolation. Where David passed the interve- 
ning time, we do not know, but at a late hour in the night, he 
was seen performing many curious antics in illustration of 
the idea. 

" I should like to be a calf," said he, and he bleated. " Oh, 
if I'd only been born a sheep," added he, and he baa'd. And 
thus the neighborhood was rendered vocal by all the sounds 
of the agricultural interests. We are not sure indeed but that 
he jumped upon a high step and crowed, and tones like that 
of a turkey-gobbler resounded along the street. There was 
no end to the eccentricities of David Dumps on that memora- 
ble night; but being unable to reach home, from divers an- 
tagonistic causes, he fell asleep in a corner, muttering that 
he wished he could have feathers to save the tailor's bill, 
could roost on a cherry-tree, to avoid the expenses of lodg- 
ing, and derive nourishment by an inhalation of the air, to 
escape the cost of beef-steaks. 



DAVID DUMP0. le** 

" I want to be independent," sighed he, " and I'll sleep 
nere by way of a beginning." 

Poor Dumps — his indifference caught him such a dread- 
ful cold, that he is disposed for the future to eschew all ex- 
periment upon new methods of living, and if he can not do 
exactly as the turkeys do, he will try to behave a little more 
Uke other people, it being cheapest in the end. 



ICiS neal's sketches. 



FLYNTEY HARTE: 

OR, THE HARDENING PROCESS. 

"I'll knock your head off!" accompanied by an effort, 
partially at least, to carry the threat into execution, formed 
the earliest outpouring of maternal tenderness that little 
Flyntey Harte could bring to mind ; and it made an impres- 
Bion, both mental and physical, which time has been unable 
to efface. 

" I'll knock your head off!" exclaimed Mrs. Flyntey Harte 
— a good-enough woman in her way, everybody said, but, 
as the good-enough family often are, quite unused to self- 
restraint, innocent altogether of the theory and practice of 
self-government, and wofully addicted, when provoked or 
vexed, to extravagances of speech and redundancies of action. 
Such was particularly the case in the present instance. The 
young Flyntey being affected with a crossness and a perver- 
sity at a moment when the good lady aforesaid had no temper 
for the endurance — these stages of condition always happen 
out of time — the young Flyntey was, of course, forthwith 
accommodated with a sonorous box o' the ear, intended 
mainly to sooth his perturbed spiiit, while it likewise served 
all the purposes of an orrery to his as yet unenlightened un- 
derstanding. Flyntey saw quite as many stars, in galaxy or 
in constellation, as ever became apparent to the astronomer ; 
but unfortunately for Mrs. Flyntey Harte, the remedial means 
resorted to, rather tended to aggravate than to counteract the 
disorder; and little Flyntey, who had given offence in the 
first place by the expression of his uneasiness, having now 




PLYNTEY HARTE. 169 

an increase to his uneasiness, set himself to work at an in- 
creased expression and with renewed offence. Consequently, 
there was quite a "bawl" at Mrs. Fl^yntey Harte's, with 
more of music in it than was agreeable or diverting, in- 
ducing several other demonstrations, knockingly, at little 
Flyntey's head, to allay the storm which had been caused by 
knocks. 

"Won't you hush?" — and as Flyntey gave no token of 
icquiescence, but, on the contrary, expanded his mouth still 
wider, he was ** taken and shaken," to the variation, though 
(•jerhaps not to the improvement of his vocal strain. 

The resources of genius, as regards the administration of 
aursery affairs, appeared at last to be exhausted. Mrs. Flyntey 
Harte sat down to rock herself, in all the energy of despair; 
and little Flyntey Harte roared away as lustily as ever, over 
the sfriefs, known and unknown, which disturbed his mental 
tranquillity. But a new idea suddenly flashed into the ma- 
ternal mind, like one of those strategic inspirations which 
often gain the day when the battle is seemingly lost. 

" IMl give you something to cry for!" screamed the lady, 
again taking up the controversy, on the assumption that like 
cures like ; and it must be confessed that she was fully equal 
to her word. Little Flyntey was immediately furnished with 
something to cry for, in addition to that which he had received 
already, and being thus furnished, under a belief that by this 
species of urging he would the sooner be induced to cry him- 
self out, he took ample occasion to demonstrate the sound- 
ness and endurance of the lungs with which he was gifted, 
and perversely afforded no prospect whatever of being cried 
out in any reasonable space of time. 

*' That boy will be the death of me !" thundered paternity, 
in the shape of Mr. Flyntey Harte, who had come ravening 
homeward for his dinner, and whose acerbities were, there- 
fore, in a high state of activity. ** My dear, why don't you 
hush him up at once V* added he, giving force to the idea by 
a "dumb motion," pantomimic of the spank. 



170 neal's sketches. 

** He can't be hushed up, as you call it," replied Mrs. 
Flyntey Harte. " Tm sure it's not my fault — no mother 
pays more attention to her children than I do — I've been 
slapping him, and shaking him, off and on, for the whole 
blessed morning" — and she immediately offered a few sam- 
ples of both methods of operation — "but, in spite of all I 
can do, he is bad as bad can be yet. I can't think, for my 
part, what the brat would have." 

" Pshaw !" retorted old Mr. Flyntey Harte: "you women 
never know how to manao^e a child — let me at him a minute!" 
and Flyntey went at him with a zeal probably deserving of 
better success ; but little Flyntey Harte continued, notwith- 
standing all the parental care lavished upon him, to roar and 
to whine alternately until he fell fast asleep through weari- 
ness and exhaustion. 

Thus ended one day in the life of little Flyntey Harte, this 
one day exposing with clearness the principle on which his 
domestic education was conducted, and perhaps, likewise, 
affording a glimpse of the results to which it led. His pa- 
rents had no other method of training intellect, and of form- 
ing character, than that which may be described as the sys- 
tem of terrorism ; and, with the best intentions in the world, 
to " terrorism" they resorted, upon all occasions of difficulty. 
It seemed to simplify the problem so, and to condense, as it 
were, all the perplexing theories of youthful cultivation into 
a plain and practical doctrine, capable of being applied on the 
instant, and under any circumstances whatever. There was 
a saving, too, of time, and care, and thought, in coming to 
the comfortable conclusion that the wisest way of bringing 
little Flyntey up, was to knock little Flyntey down. It lev- 
elled the difficulty at once, besides being so wholesome and 
pleasant to the instructor, who, in this view of the subject, is 
under no obligation to suppress wrath, or to restrain the 
emotions of impatience. On the contrary, it seems to be a 
permission to slap away, right and left, killing two birds with 
one stone, by at once gratifying your own pugnacity, and 



PLYNTEY HARTE. 171 

giving your pupil an impulse forward in the walks of use- 
ful knowledge. But it must be confessed, however, unfortu- 
nately both for the theory here alluded to and for little Flyntey 
Harte himself, that, while no boy ever had more " pains" be- 
stowed upon him in the processes of education, it is also true 
that no boy ever yielded more "pains" in return — as if it 
were on a principle of poetical justice that caused the sowing 
and the reaping to be somewhat similar in kind. Flyntey 
was "corrected" every day of his existence — sometimes 
twice, if not thrice a day; and yet popular report set him 
down proverbially as the worst lad in the neighborhood. 
Was it not strange that such should be the discouraging re- 
sult of so much toil of arm and expenditure of strap, and 
that the only advantage derived by either of the parties should 
be merely deducible from the exercise] 

Not an hour passed that it was not announced to little 
Flyntey, formally or informally, that his wickedness was be- 
yond all other wickedness ; and little Flyntey took it as 
matter of course, that he was wicked, that he must be wicked 
and wicked he therefore was, to all intents and purposes ; 
no good being expected from him, which, we take it, in a 
stout constitution, either for evil or its opposite, is as sure 
a way as any, of making it certain that no good wili 
come. 

" Might just as well enjoy myself," said little Flyntey ; 
** they don't expect any better from me." 

It was astonishing to both father and mother that Flyntey 
had no instinctive notions about meum and tuum ; and that 
he should have come into the world so surprisingly ig^norant 
of the fundamental principles of the social compact, as to lay 
his unhallowed hands on whatever he wanted ; and we are 
constrained to admit that a knowledge of the rights of prop- 
erty was not spontaneous in his infant mind; so that, if he 
desired to have a thing, it was most likely, if occasion served, 
that he would take that very thing, putting it either into his 
mouth or into his pocket, with no very serious visitations of 



172 neal's sketches. 

remorse for having gone contiary to the statutes. We can 
not well account for it, but there is no contending against 
the fact, made apparent so frequently, that Flyntey's propen- 
sities, appetites, and inclinations, were developed in advance 
of his reasoning and restraining powers. Was he not a 
wicked one, the little Flyntey, not to comprehend, as soon 
as his eyes were open, that people on this earth are not to do 
exactly as they like 1 — and what are we to expect from that 
childhood, like Flyntey's, which could not at once anticipate 
the wisdom gathered by years? Of course, there was but 
one recipe for expediting his intellectual progress, and many 
chastisements were invoked to ripen conscience, and to ex- 
pand causality. 

'* Let that alone, you Flyntey ! 

"And why must I let it alone ? — I want that — I will have 
that!" 

" Because, if you don't let it alone, I'll whip you within an 
inch of your life — I will, you thief!" 

The reasoning, perhaps, may be regarded as sound — 
there is no doubt whatever that the whipping to which it 
iiointed was, in general, sound enough — but yet little Flyn- 
tey Harte could only understand from this admonition, not 
so much that it was his duty and his best interest to resist 
the impulses of his acquisitiveness, as that it was his policy 
so to regulate them as to ** 'scape whipping." He saw 
nothing more than the arbitrary will of another and a 
stronger, based upon barefaced power, arraying itself against 
the cravings of his ovvu individual will, and condescending 
to no kindly explanations of its conduct; and little Flyntey, 
unconvinced, called in the flexibilities of insincerity and 
cunning, to enable him to creep round obstacles that he 
could not directly surmount. The petty larceny, in conse- 
quence, bloomed into one of his choicest accomplishments. 
Nay, even when detection was inevitable, he weighed and 
balanced the g(»od with the evil. If the pleasure of attain- 
ing his end seemed to transcend the torment of the penalty 



FLYNTEY IIARTE. 173 

he enjoyed the one at the cost of the other, and looked upon 
himself as a gainer by the bargain. 

Another sin ovular result soon manifested itself Little 
Flyntey Harte, though himself fresh, as it were, from the 
sorrows of affliction, and from the griefs of infliction, proved 
to be a tyrant and an oppressor — very cruel and very bar- 
barous, to all who were unable to defend themselves — he 
moved a terror to the smaller children, and a horror to the 
cats and dogs. He had, somehow or other — can you ima- 
gine how? — gathered one generalization into his magazine 
of maxims, that pain of a corporeal nature is the great actu- 
ating impulse of the world, and that it should be employed 
as a means of procuring amusement as freely as for any 
other purpose whatever. " If you are not hurt yourself," 
thought Flyntey, ** it's prime sport to hurt other people," 
and accordingly, none were safe from his machinations in 
that respect ; and direful Were the complaints on this score 
against little Flyntey Harte. But here again — what is to 
be done in such a case? — the precepts of humanity, so in- 
dustriously flogged into him, answered no other end than that 
of increasing the evil, by rendering it the more guarded, and 
the more difficult to avoid. Even the mollifying influence 
of ratan, cowskin, or horsewhip, were impotent in impart- 
ing the lessons of kindness, charity, and love. They rather 
aggravated the treacherousness of and malignity which they 
were intended to eradicate. 

There had been an endeavor, likewise, according to the 
canons of flagellation, to place young Flyntey Harte en 
rapport with veracity, that he might, in the way of forming 
a creditable acquaintance, sometimes have to do with the 
truth. But, by his own sinister mode of reasoning, our hero 
came to peculiar conclusions : — 

"Flyntey, did you take that sugar, or smoke them cigars V* 
inquired his father, as he gave significant pliancy to a rod ; 
"come — tell the truth now." 

" If I do tell the truth," mused Flyntey, eying the rod 



174 neal's sketches, 

askance, and estimating from long expeiience, its capacity 
for mischief, "if I do tell the truth, there is no mistake 
about it — I shall be whaled, sartin — but if I don't tell the 
truth, ^may be I'll get off clear — them's the chances; and I 
go for the chances." 

"No, sir; it wasn't me," replied Flyntey, with an iron 
countenance, and with that steady front of denial which 
practice in deceit is sure to give ; and it depended upon the 
chances aforesaid whether he should be chastised or not ; 
but if, unluckily, the evidences of the deed, or the accidental 
exasperations of paternal temper were against him, Flyntey 
Harte would be corrected in exten.so. In that event the re 
suit was still the same as before hinted at. 

"I'll teach you to steal sugar!" and the lesson did teach 
nim, not so much that the felonious appropriation of forbid- 
den sweets was improper and unjustifiable, but that it 
should be done. Spartanlike, in J^vay to preclude the pos- 
sibility of being discovered. Th"deficiency was made up 
in sand. 

"I'll teach you to tell falsehoods!" and the teaching — 
which played lively enough about the back, but came not 
near the heart — did induce the patient to exercise more 
ingenuity in the getting up of denials, subterfuges, and eva- 
sions, than had been his preceding practice. 

" They talk to me a good deal about the truth," solilo- 
quized Flyntey, " and they say truth is a pretty nice sort of 
thing; but I don't believe a word of it. Own up, must I, 
whenever I've had a bit of fun to myself? I sha'n't ! — 
Owning up is always a pair of boxed ears — I don't like 
that — and as for the truth, why that is a thunderin' big 
hiding, every time. They ask me for the truth ; and when 
I tell it, they always switch me ; and if I don't tell the truth, 
then they switch me to make me tell it; and after I have 
told it, they switch me again, because I told it. Whenever 
I hear of the truth, it's as sure as can be, that switching is 
uot far off. They always go together ; and I'll do my best 



FLYNTEY HARTE. 



175 



to keep out of such disagreeable company. If they want to 
know who it was that broke the closet window, and took 
the preserves, let 'em find it out by their learning. It's just 
as easy to say no, as it is to say yes ; and it's cheaper, con- 
siderable. And now I'll go and enjoy myself. Catch me 
telling the truth, to get a flogging." 



«<Fun! yes — there's going to be fun this afternoon," 

muttered little Flyntey Harte, as he skulked about a house 
at the comer, now loitering at the pump, and anon gazing 
idly into the shop-windows, giving, from time to time, a 
short peculiar whistle, as a subdued signal to some desired 
companion. It could scarcely be said that Flyntey's coun- 
tenance wore a smile — the hardening process and its de- 
ceitful consequences had long ago swept smiles for ever 
from his face, and had left instead, a joyless contortion of 
feature that had nothing of mirthfulness about it, even when 
the cordage of his physiognomy pulled hard to open gates 
for laughter. Flyntey had no laughter in him — there was 
none of the joyousness of youth about his hard and care- 
worn look, with its premature expression of depravity ; and 
when he would be merry, it was awkward, ungainly, and 
unpractised, dashed too, with a tinge of malice and revenge, 
as if it were but an ambush for the stealthy approach of 
trick and enmity. But in the instance now referred to, it 
was evident that Flyntey had a thought within, which was 
pleasant to himself at least — whatever it might prove to 

others. 

«* Fun for two !" again ejaculated he, with a gleam of 
stony delight ; and there was a cold sparkle in his eye. 
coupled with a compression of the lip that spoke of mis- 
chief 

''Fun!" said he? — Fun needs to be defined. Many 
things are honored with the name of fun, which are eventu- 
ally discovered to be anything but fun. The fumiy man is 



176 neal's sketches. 

too often a sad fellow; and the frog is in the right of it, 
who decided that fun to me miarht be death to him. When 
such folks as Flyntey Harte thus rub their hands together, 
anticipating glee, the fun in contemplation is to be a mo- 
nopoly, leaving one of the parties to the affair as far from 
realizing the fun as can well be imagined. Ringing peo- 
ple's bells, considered in juvenility, is fun in some sort, 
as you thought once, and ran in joy away ; but it is a 
shrewd question with the philosopher, whether rheumatic 
and wearied Sally, after a hard day's work, is alive to a full 
appreciation of the fun which calls her, by tintinnabulation 
and these eccentric campanologian performances, from the 
deep recess of kitchen, or from sweet repose in garrets, 
to find none but nobody at street-doors. Do you not — most 
funny one — now hear her growling in retreat? Yes, Sally 
grumbles, ay, and Juba, too, to be disturbed in this, your 
funny fashion. The whole department of hoaxing and of 
practical jokery is of the same description of one-sided fun; 
and though it be set down as fun to throw eggs into a crowd, 
still, it is not often that the recipient thereof is overwhelmed 
with gratitude at the favor so liberally bestowed. A snow- 
ball in one's bed, or freezing water in a boot, often con- 
vulses the performer of the deed with deepest bursts of 
laughter ; yet it will be observed as a general rule, that the 
effect upon the person for whom all this trouble has been 
taken, is for the most part, and in the majority of instances, 
widely different ; as indeed will also show itself to be the 
case when a trap is left upon the stairs, to cause the unwary 
to go through a certain series of ground and lofty tumbling, 
for the amusement of those who are in the secret and who 
listen for the clatter. Thus, too, when the chair upon which 
you purpose to deposite yourself, is suddenly withdrawn, 
and your descent is considerably greater and more rapid than 
you had reason to anticipate, it is within the scope of likeli- 
hood that your usually placid brow will be corrugated with 
frowns, and that the few words you do speak in answer to 



PLYNTEY HARTE. 177 

the mirtli of bystanders, will embody more of the force than 
of the graces of our language. 

Flyntey's look, therefore, indicated some species of fun of 
this restricted nature — the sport to be all here — the an- 
noyance and the suffering all there ; and he now awaited the 
approach of an accomplice — one Badde Feller, who, with- 
out the intensity of character and the powers of invention, 
that so eminently distinguished Flyntey Harte, and made 
him instinctively a leader, had yet the faculty of following 
in another's trail, and of admiring the imprint of a broader 
footstep than his own. 

" Fun ! — where 1" inquired Badde Feller, with his usual 
sneaking smirk, being then in process of an errand, with a 
bottle in one hand, and a shilling in the other. 

" Hei'e !" growled Flyntey, tapping upon the breast of his 
jacket, with an air of lofty superiority. "Peep in there, and 
tell me what you think of that V 

" Why, if it isn't a pistil — an 'orse pistil ! Is it borrered?" 

" Hooked, you goose," replied Flyntey, with a smile ; 
"hooked round at Jones's — leave me alone for that — baby 
was at the door, and I tumbled it off the steps, for fun ; but 
then, thinks I to myself, thinks I, now's the time; so I picked 
baby Jones up in my arms, gave baby Jones a pinch or two, 
to make it squeal the louder, and can-ied it into the shop, 
poor little Jones! — the folks all came running to see what 
was the matter — gave me two cents for being a good boy, 
and, as I came out, I hooked the pistol ! ho ! ho !" 

" And shot off too, I guess, ha ! ha !" jocularly and de- 
lightedly added Badde Feller ; " it takes you, Flyntey, to 
do good things — I'd never thought of that 'are — never." 

*• I guess not — but now we've got the pistol, what else is 
to be done 1" 

" Shoot something, mustn't we ?" added Badde Feller, with 
an innocent smile. "Kill somebody's dog, won't we?" 

" Ay ; but where's the powder, and the shot, and the 

bullets 1 Get them, and we'll shoot Jones's pet cat to begin 

12 



178 neal's sketches. 

with. Stop — I have it — keep that bottle and sell it — give 
me the shilling to get the powder, and afterward you can 
tell your old man that you fell down, and spilt the whiskey 

— that's the plan. You'd never have thought of that, neither 

— it takes me." 

Badde Feller demurred, lacking nerve for the crisis ; but at 
leno^th his fears were overcome : and it will be seen in the en- 
gi-aving how the plans against Jones's cat were pushed from 
abstract theory into the full flush of glorious practice. Jones's 
cat perished, yielding up at least one of its nine lives ; but the 
murder had a witness in the dowager Mrs. Jones. It was 
•' my grandmother's cat," and thereby hangs a tale, though 
that the cat be dead by the remorseless hands of Flyntey 
Harte. 

This affair proved to be catastrophical, as well, or as ill, 
to Flyntey Harte, as to Jones's unhappy cat. Investigation 
was instituted — the evidence being direct, not circumstantial, 
left not a hinge or loop to hang a doubt on — the larceny of 
the pistol — the death of the pussy — and the deluding of 
Badde Feller, who played innocence on the occasion, and 
** owned up" as state's evidence, under the plea of having 
been cajoled into disappointing his father in regard to the 
bottle and the shilling — relative to which, however, we do 
not believe one word — all formed a terrific array of criminal 
fact against young Flyntey Harte ; and as, unfortunately for 
himself, it had not been his luck to have killed a man, and to 
be tried by a jury, which would have secured the verdict of 
acquittal, a conviction and a punishment came inexorably 
down upon him, after the manner to which he had been long 
accustomed. Flyntey Harte, the elder, with a nerve worthy 
of the first Brutus, made a last effort to scourge his precious 
offspring into that wholesome appreciation of the beauties 
of honesty, humanity, and truthfulness, which as yet seemed 
to be a sealed book to his perverted eyes. The result, how- 
ever, was as " striking" as the means employed ; for young 
Flyntey Harte beat a retreat in the middle of the night, after 



PLYNTEY HARTE. 179 

breaking whatever was breakable, silently, about the house. 
His own clothes went with him, added to other choice selec- 
tions in the way of apparel ; and he took as much of the 
paternal cash as became available in the opening of desks 
and drawers. Nay, he had even made well-intended ar- 
rangements for a domiciliary conflagration, which failed 
through mischance ; and the words — 

" G-ON TO See," 

were scrawled in charcoal upon the wall of his chamber, in 
such equivocal orthography, that none could tell whether he 
had embarked his fortunes on the ocean wave, or had merely 
set forth " to see" the world, in a more earthly way. But what- 
ever be the way chosen by young Flyntey Harte — on the 
waters or on the dry land — is a way which will lead to 
prisons, if not to that greater elevation whence it is usual to 
" drop the subject ;" and if so, it is left to considerati.>n 
where the blame and responsibility should rest, for all Flynl^y 
Haite's mischances and misdeeds. The theme, perhaps, 
may be found worthy of a moment's thought, in its connexion 
with the varied systems of youthful training with which ou' 
age abounds. 



180 weat' 



NKAL S SKETCHES. 



THE MERRY CHRISTMAS AND THE HAPPY NEW YEAR 



OP 



MR. DUNN BROWN. 

Poor Mr. Dunn Brown ! 

Do you not, friend, pity any one who thus bears engraved 
upon his front the unerring signs of a sad and discontented 
spirit — you, we mean, all of you, who are gifted — if, as this 
world goes, it be a gift to feel acutely those sorrows which 
appertain rather to our neighbors than ourselves — who are 
afflicted, then, if you prefer it so, with philanthropy and ten- 
derness of heart? Are you not disposed, when in the mood, 
and with time to spare for the purpose, to weep over the un- 
known sufferings of the rueful Mr. Dunn Brown, and to enter 
largely on the work of sympathization and of condolement, 
shaking him gently by the hand, with a tear or two in your 
eye, as you advise him to be of good cheer, and to " get up 
and try it again ?" We are sure it must be so. 

Yet we fear that all of this disinterested kindness of yours 
is a waste and a throwing away of benevolence. Mr. Dunn 
Brown is not to be comforted — Mr. Dunn Brown does not 
wish to be comforted — Mr. Dunn Brown regards himself as 
happier to be unhappy than all the rest of the world as it 
revels in felicity and runs riot in delight. Laugh who will 
— sing who may — dance whoever has the agility — Dunn 
Brown has more of pleasure, according to his ideas of pleas- 
ure, in these doleful groanings of his than is to be conceived 
of by any of the inferior nature. For, as he thinks, they, 
poor creatures, ** don't know any better." But he — Mr. 
Ounn Brown — will not enjoy delight upon such terms as 



MR. DUNN BROWN. 181 

these — he knows a great deal better — ask him, and he will 
tell you so — and therefore, on a principle, makes the worst 
of things, and exults sulkily in his superior wisdom, with a 
smile of scornfulness and contempt for those triflers in the 
sunbeam who are so weak as to be content and merry. 
Dunn Brown is not to be caught in the perpetration of such 
a silliness, but growls, he does, and grumbles, in all the ex- 
asperation of a splenetic spirit — the great, the wise, the 
profound Mr. Dunn Brown — who is there, anywhere, but 
Mr. Dunn Brown 1 Who is there that has been, can be, or 
will be, to compare with Mr. Dunn Brown 1 

True, Mr. Dunn Brown, with his keen perception of val- 
ues, wishes misanthropically, both night and morning, that 
he never had been born, regarding it as the greatest misfor- 
tune that ever happened to him, to have made an appearance 
on this sublunary sphere of trouble and disquietude; but, for 
all that, Mr. Dunn Brown is as firm as can be in the faith 
that it would have been a disaster to the world itself, if the 
age we live in had not been enlightened by his example, and 
by the comments on it which were only to be imagined and 
uttered by a man like him — if, indeed, there could by possi 
bility have been another man like him cotemporaneous with 
Mr. Dunn Brown — who firmly believes that, however it may 
be with others, he stands alone, without a parallel — only one 
Dunn Brown — the rest are verdant in their tinge and col- 
oring. He — he only — is not to be deceived by the toys 
and sugar-plums of existence, into a belief that there is any- 
thing worth living for — he sees, he knows, he comprehends; 
and he scorns the superficial gilding which makes others 
happy in their tinselled gingerbread. 

When Dunn Brown rises in the morning, he rails at the 

day which calls him to another succession of plagues and 

perplexities, in causing ends to meet, and in providing for 

the demands of business. When Mr. Dunn Brown goes to 

bed at night, Mr. Dunn Brown is at least half inclined to the 

opinion, that if it were not for the loss that would thus be 
26 



182 neal's sketches. 

sustained by society, it would be an economy if he were 
never to wake again — a saving in the way of tears and a re- 
trenchment in the matter of misanthropic reflection. You 
should see Mr. Dunn Brown as he makes his forlorn appear- 
ance at the breakfast-table, and imbibes his nutriment — 
how he carps, how he complains, how he argues against the 
soundness of every proposition that may be broached ; ob- 
jecting to the coffee, impugning the cakes, and placing the 
seal of his reprobation on the savory sausage ; croaking and 
eating until the argument and the appetite are both exhaust- 
ed, and his hunger and his querulousness are satisfied and 
silenced. Do see Mr. Dunn Brown at his breakfast, in pref- 
erence to a visit to the menagerie. Should the process be 
converted into an exhibition, it would be cheap at twenty-five 
cents, only to acquire a knowledge of the ferocious capabili- 
ties of Mr. Dunn Brown. 

"And now, a merry Christmas to you, Mr. Dunn Brown." 
" Merry stuff — merry nonsense — merry fiddlesticks !" re- 
sponds Mr. Dunn Brown — '* pretty merriment, indeed, to 
be compelled to empty your pockets, whether you want to 
or not, to give things to people who don't care a button about 
you, after they have obtained what they want, with their 
merry Christmas, and all that — and that's not the worst of 
it either, for you must bother your brains for a week, think- 
ing what you shall give them, and then not hit upon the right 
thing after all — all sorts of things, too, that are useless — 
fine books to those who never read, with precious curiosities 
that only serve to lumber up all the dark closets. Now, I'll 
leave it to any man, any woman — yes, and any child, I will, 
whether it is not the first requisite of a Christmas-box, that 
it should not be available for any purpose — too fine to touch 
— too frail to be employed. The whole house is cluttered 
up with Christmas-boxes ; and all the children are either 
crying over their broken toys, or are very sick with surfeits 
of pie and candy. D'ye call that merry Christmas, I'd lika 
to know?" 



MR. DUNN BROWN. 183 

"Oh, yes — 'merry Christmas,' to be sure — and what 
does that mean ? Yes — what does that mean when you take 
your dictionary and translate it into plain language 1 Why, 
a half-dollar at least, if it dues not come to a great deal more 
than fifty cents. You want to be merry at my expense, do 
you, Mr. Merry Christmas? — Well, when I'm sent to the 
legislature, I'll have a law passed against all such merri- 
ments, I will. Every man shall shake his own hand, and 
everybody buy his own Christmas-box — that's my notion, 
and that's the way I'd box 'em, all round, and see who'd be 
merry then." 

**A happy New- Year, Mr. Dunn Brown — I wish you a 
very happy New- Year." 

"A happy New-Year !" cries Mr. Dunn Brown ; " I wish 
you would tell me where I'm to find the happiness of the 
New-Year, when all the world comes pecking at me with 
their bills, as if a man had nothing else to do but to pay 
money — everything going out and not a farthing coming in 
— tailors' boys, bootmakers' boys — all sorts of boys, bill in 
one hand and t'other hand extended for the cash, pulling at the 
bell, too, as if it was the greatest sport in the world to pre- 
vent a man from having one moment of peace and happiness. 
And this is your New- Year — your happy New- Year ! The 
old year was bad enough ; but each of your New- Years is a 
great deal worse than any that went before. I can say for 
one, that I never want to see a New-Year again as long as 
I live ; for no sooner is the old year fixed off comfortably, 
than in comes another to disturb the whole arrangement." 

It will thus be seen that Mr. Dunn Brown is ever to be 
found in that melancholy measure which is familiarly known 
to the rest of the world as " a peck of troubles ;" and that 
whatever may chance to occur, it is certain to give rise to a 
discourse somewhat of the funereal order. To all anniversa- 
ries he has an especial aversion, and nothing moves his wrath 
more effectively than to speak of the celebration of a birth* 
day — his own, or that of any other person. 



184 neal's sketches. 

" Your birthday, Mr. Dunn Brown — is it not? How old, 
Mr. Dunn Brown ]" 

"How old?" — why not, O world! — why not, in this 
matter, change and transmute your phraseology? How old! 
— is it agreeable thus to be reminded of the course of time 
and of the progress of decay, by your " how old V Would 
it not be as easy to say, " How young are you now," instead 
of thus continually reminding people that their span on earth 
is marching rapidly to its close? 

"And here it is again !" exclaims Mr. Dunn Brown. 
** Why could not our lives have been begun at the other 
end, so that we might be growing younger every day, instead 
of dwindling into wrinkles and gray hairs? — then they would 
say * fifty years young,' instead of * fifty years old,' which 
would be vastly more agreeable — 'getting young fast' — 
wouldn't that be nice? But to rejoice over birthdays, the 
way they have them now, it's the silliest thing I ever heard 
of. Nobody sees me making a fuss about my birthday, any 
more than I do about your merry Christmas and your happy 
New-Year, No — I keep just as quiet about it as ever I 
can — sort'er dodge round it, and try to make myself forget 
that there ever was such a thing as a birthday, instead of 
ciphering over it as some people do, as if there were a 
pleasure in counting how much is gone and how little re- 
mains." 

It will, therefore, be perceived that Mr. Dunn Brown is a 
species of philosopher — sad and sombre — as we find it usu- 
ally the case with your incipient philosopher, who, in the first 
stages of his advancement, cries aloud that all is barren. But 
Dunn Brown advances no further than grumbletonianism ; 
and we fear that there he will remain, Dunn Brown, con- 
vinced that man, legitimately, is never properly employed 
unless he is engaged in the useful operation of shedding tears 
of vain regret and finding fault with that which is to be re- 
garded as the irremediable, not knowing that there is some- 
thing beyond this which enables humanity to make the best 



MR. DUNN BROWN. 



185 



of its position and to be happy with the circumstances which 

surround it. 

But still, Dunn Brown has that negative happiness which 
consists in pluming himself upon his superior sagacity in the 
pleasant labor of the discovering of miseries and the prepara- 
tion of torments, while he likewise gathers comfort in the 
habit of despising those who are foolish enough not to engage 
in the cultivation of sorrow, which with Dunn Brown may be 
regarded as a species of wholesale manufacture. 

"Any man" — it is Dunn Brown's decided conviction, 
which he carries out practically — " any man — a live man, 
who is not decidedly miserable all the time he is alive, must 
be a goose — there's no alternative. I'm thankful I'm not a 
goose, but a sensible, thinking individual, and, of course, just 
about as miserable a man as you could wish to see, especially 
about the New-Year, when the silly ones keep up such a 
firing of guns, as if they could drive off the charges of cred- 
itors°by the discharges of blank-cartridge — a thing not to be 
did. But I do wish that a man could somehow or other con- 
trive to run away from himself as easily as he can run away 
from other people. If anybody will find out how to do that, 
he shall be remembered in my will, if there happens to be 
anything over, which, from present appearances, isn't very 

likely." 

And so Mr. Dunn Brown sits down in his "old armchair," 
to rail at the world and to congratulate himself upon his own 
wretchedness, until he is shrivelled away to a mere anatomy, 
unhappy Dunn and melancholy Brown! One of his children 
is to be educated as a sexton, while the other is to walk 
abroad in the shadowy guise of an undertaker, as Dunn 
Brown himself saunters through creation as its mourner-in- 
chief, by constitution and by preference. Should he be smit- 
ten by the love of military renown, the regiment he belongs 
to must parade and muster as "the Blues" — no other color 
will serve — no other color can prevail where he is present; 
and should too much of mirtlifulness pervade your vicinity 



186 NEAL*S SKETCirES. 

ask Mr. Dunn Brown to step in now and then, and our life 
on it, there will soon be a sufficient infusion of gall and bit- 
terness, of misanthropy and discontent, to qualify the whole 
matter to suit the most lugubrious fancy. Dunn Brown is a 
perpetual memento m,ori — an everlasting remembrancer of 
the insecurity of all human happiness ; and we'd like to see 
any of you venture upon a laugh or try the experiment of a 
joke in his awful presence. Next to the obituary notices in 
the journals, one of Dunn Brown's greatest enjoyments in 
life is in the perusal of the bulletin-boards of the newspaper- 
offices, when they recount the latest steamboat disaster, or 
the most recent catastrophe upon a railroad. Depend upon 
it, that he will meet you on the wharf, or greet you at the 
depot, with all the most comfortable particulars of the peril 
you are about to encounter. In this respect, Dunn Brown is 
careful that you should have none of that species of bliss 
which is the offspring of ignorance ; and should you thus 
serve to furnish an item of " appalling intelligence,'* you will 
be pleased to remember, as the boiler bursts, that you would 
rush upon your fate in defiance of the friendly cautions of 
your careful friend, the immortal Dunn Brown, who knew 
well how it would be, and who did not hesitate to tell you so. 
Perhaps the thought may prove a source of comfort in your 
Bufferings. At all events, 'twas not the fault of Mr. Dunn 
Brown. Was it, now] 



PELEG W. PONDEP. 187 



PELEG W. PONDER: 

OR, THE POLITICIAN WITHOUT A SIDE. 

It is a curious thing — an unpleasant thing — a very em- 
barrassing sort of thing — but the truth must be told — if not 
at all times, at least sometimes ; and truth now compels the 
declaration, that Peleg W. Ponder, whose character is 
here portrayed, let him travel in any way, can not arrive 
at a conclusion. He never had one of his own. He scarcely 
knows a conclusion, even if he should chance to see one be- 
longing to other people. And, as for reaching a result, he 
would never be able to do it, if he could stretch like a giraffe. 
Results are beyond his compass. And his misfortune is, 
perhaps, hereditary, his mother's name having been Mrs. 
Perplexity Ponder, whose earthly career came to an end 
while she was in dubitation as to which of the various physi- 
cians of the place should be called in. If there had been 
only one doctor in the town, Perplexity Ponder might have 
been saved. But there were many — and what could Per- 
plexity do in such a case? 

Ponder's father was run over by a wagon, as he stood de- 
bating with himself, in the middle of the road, whether he 
should escape forward or retreat backward. There were 
two methods of extrication, and between them both old Pon- 
der became a victim. How then could their worthy son, 
Peleg, be expected to arrive at a conclusion ? He never 
does. 



18S neal's sketches. 

Yet, for one's general comfort and particular happiness, 
there does not appear to be any faculty more desirable than 
the power of " making up the mind." Right or wrong, it 
saves a deal of wear and tear; and it prevents an infinite 
variety of trouble. Commend us to the individual who closes 
upon propositions like a nutcracker — whose promptness of 
will has a sledge-hammer way with it, and hits nails contin- 
ually on the head. Genius may be biilliant — talent com- 
manding; but what is genius, or what is talent, if it lack that 
which we may call the clinching faculty — if it hesitates, 
veers, and flutters — suffers opportunity to pass, and stumbles 
at occasion ? To reason well is much, no doubt ; but reason 
loses the race, if it sits in meditation on the fence when com- 
petition rushes by. 

Under the best of circumstances, something must be left 
to hazard. There is a chance in all things. No man can so 
calculate odds in the affairs of life as to insure a certainty. 
The screws and linchpins necessary to our puipose have not 
the inflexibility of a fate ; yet they must be trusted at some 
degree of risk. Our candle may be put out by a puff of wind 
on the stairs, let it be sheltered ever so carefully. Betsy is 
a good cook, yet beefsteaks have been productive of strangu- 
lation. Does it then follow from this, that we are never to 
go to bed, except in the dark, and to abstain from breaking 
our fast until dinner is announced 1 

One may pause and reflect too much. There must be ac- 
tion, conclusion, result, or we are a failure, to all intents and 
purposes — a self-confessed failure — defunct from thebegin* 
ning. And such was the case with Peleg W. Ponder, who 
never arrived at a conclusion, or contrived to reach a result. 
Peleg is always "stumped" — he "don't know what to think" 
— he "can't tell what to say" — an unfinished gentleman, 
with a mind like a dusty garret, full, as it were, of rickety 
furniture, yet nothing serviceable — broken-backed chairs — 
three-legged tables — pitchers without a handle — cracked 
decanters and fractured looking-glasses — that museum of 



PELEG W. PONDER. 



189 



mutilations, in which housewifery rejoices, under the vague, 
but never-realized hope, that these things may eventually 
" come in play." Peleg's opinions lie about the workshop 
of his brain, in every stage of progress but the last — chips, 
sticks, and sawdust, enough, but no article ready to send 

home. 

Should you meet Peleg in the street, with " Good morn- 
ing, Peleg — how do you find yourself to-day 1" 

«* Well — I don't know exactly — I'm pretty — no, not very 
— pray, how do you do, yourself?" 

Now, if a man does not know exactly, or nearly, how he 
is, after being up for several hours, and having had abundant 
time to investigate the circumstances of his case, it is useless 
to propound questions of opinion to such an individual. It 
is useless to attempt it with Peleg. " How do you do," puz- 
zles him — he is fearful of being too rash, and of making a 
reply which might not be fully justified by after-reflection. 
His head may be about to ache, and he has other suspicious 
feelings. 

** People are always asking me how I do, and more than 
half the time I can't tell — there's a good many different sorts 
of ways of feeling betwixt and between * Very sick, I thank 
you,' and * Half dead, I'm obliged to you;' and people won't 
stop to hear you explain the matter. They want to know 
right smack, when you don't know right smack yourself. 
Sometimes you feel things a-coming, and just after, you feel 
things a-going. And nobody's exactly prime all the while. 
I ain't, anyhow — I'm kinder so just now, and I'm sorter 
t'other way just after. — Then, some people tell you that 
you look very well, when you don't feel very well — how 
then ?" 

At table, Peleg is not exactly sure what he will take; and 
sits looking slowly up and down the board, deliberating what 
he would like, until the rest of the company have finished 
their repast, there being often nothing left which suits Pe 
leg's hesitating appetite. 



190 neal's sketches. 

Telecr has never married — not that he is averse to the 

o 

connubial state — on the contrary, he has a large share of the 
susceptibilities, and is always partially in love. But female 
beauty is so various. At one time, Peleg is inclined to be- 
lieve that perfection lies in queenly dignity — the majesty of 
an empress fills his dreams ; and he looks down with disdain 
upon little people. He calls them " squabs," in derogation. 
But anon, in a more domestic mood, he thinks of fireside 
happiness and quiet bliss, declining from the epic poetry of 
loveliness, to the household wife, who might be disposed to 
bring him his slippers, and to darn the hole in his elbow. 
When in the tragic vein, he fancies a brunette ; and when 
the sunshine is on his soul, blue eyes are at a premium. 
Should woman possess the lightness of a sylph, or should 
her charms be of the more solid architecture 1 Ought her 
countenance to beam in smiles, or will habitual pensiveness 
be the more interesting 1 Is sparkling brilliancy to be pre- 
ferred to gentle sweetness ? 

** If there wasn't so many of them, I shouldn't be so 
bothered," said Peleg; " or, if they all looked alike, a man 
couldn't help himself. But yesterday, I wanted this one — 
to-day, I want that one ; and to-morrow, I'll want t'other 
one ; and how can I tell, if I should get this, or that, or 
t'other, that it wouldn't soon be somebody else that I really 
wanted 1 That's the difficulty. It always happens so with 
me. When the lady's most courted, and thinks I ought to 
speak out, then I begin to be skeered, for fear I've made a 
mistake, and have been thinking I loved her, when I didn't. 
May be it's not the right one — may be she won't suit — may 
be I might do better — may be I had better not venture at 
all. I wish there wasn't so many ' may-bes' about every- 
thing, especially in such affairs. I've got at least a dozen 
unfinished courtships on hand already." 

But all this happened a long time ago; and Peleg has 
gradually lost sight of his fancy for making an addition to 
his household. Not that he has concluded, even yet, to 



PELEG W. PONDER. 191 

remain a bachelor. He would be alarmed at the bare men- 
tion of such an idea. He could not consent to be shelved in 
that decisive manner. But he has subsided from active 
"looking around" in pursuit of his object, into that calm 
irresponsible submissiveness, characteristic of the somewhat 
elderly bachelor, which waits until she may chance to pre- 
sent herself spontaneously, and ** come along" of her own 
accord. "Some day — some day," says Peleg ; "it will 
happen some day or other. What's the use of being in a 
hurry V* 

Peleg W. Ponder's great object is now ambition. His 
personal affairs are somewhat embarrassed by his lack of 
enterprise ; and he hankers greatly for an office. But which 
side to join? Ay, there's the rub! Who will purvey the 
loaf and fish ? For whom shall Peleg shout 1 

Behold him, as he puzzles over the returns of the state 
elections, laboring in vain to satisfy his mind as to the result 
in the presidential contest. Stupefied by figures — perplexed 
by contradictory statements — bothered by the general hur- 
rah ; what can Peleg do ] 

" Who's going to win ? That's all I want to know," ex- 
claims the vexed Peleg ; " I don't want to waste my time a 
blowing out for the wrong person, and never get a thank'e. 
What's the use of that ] There's Simpkins — says 1, Simp- 
kins, says I, which is the party that can't be beat. And 
Simpkins turns up his nose and tells me every fool knows 
that — it's his side — so I hurrah for Simpkins's side as hard 
as I can. But then comes Timpkins — Timpkins's side is 
t'other side from Simpkins's side, and Timpkins offers to 
bet me three levies that his side is the side that can't be 
beat. Hurrah! says I, for Timpkins's side! — and then I 
can't tell which side. 

" As for the newspapers, that's worse still. They not 
only crow all round, but they cipher it out so clear, that both 
sides must win, if there's any truth in the ciphering-book ; 
which there isn't about election times. What's to be done ? 



192 neal's sketches. 

I've tried going to all the meetings — I've hurraed for every* 
body — I've been in all the processions, and I sit a little 
while every evening in all sorts of headquarters. I've got 
one kind of documents in one pocket, and t'other kind of . 
documents in t'other pocket ; and as I go home at night, I 
sing one sort of song as loud as I can bawl half of the way, 
and try another sort of song the rest of the way, just to split 
the difference and show my impartiality. If I only had two 
votes — a couple of 'em — how nice it would be. 

" But the best thing that can be done now, I guess, as my 
character is established both ways, is to turn in quietly till 
the row is all over. Nobody will miss me when they are 
so busy ; and afterward, when we know all about it, just 
look for Peleg W. Ponder as he comes down the street, 
shaking people by the hand, and saying how we have used 
them up. I can't say so now, or I would — for I am not 
perfectly sure yet which is * we,* or which is * them.' Time 
enough when the election is over." 

It will thus be seen that Ponder is a remarkable person. 
Peter Schlemihl lost his shadow, and became memorably 
unhappy in consequence ; but what was his misfortune 
when compared with that of the man who has no side ] 
What are shadows if weighed against sides 1 And Peleg 
is almost afraid that he never will be able to get a side, so 
unlucky has he been heretofore. He begins to dread that 
both sides may be defeated ; and then, let us ask, what is to 
become of him 1 Must he stand aside 1 



NEAL'S CHARCOAL SKETCHES. 
BOOK THE THIUD. 



PETER PLODDY'S DREAM. 

Let no one be unjust to Ploddy— to Peter Ploddy, 
once "young man" to Mr. Figgs, the grocer, and now 
junior partner of the flourishing firm of Figgs and 
Ploddy. Though addicted a little to complaint, and apt 
to institute comparisons unfavourable to himself, it would 
be a harsh judgment to set him down as ever having 
been envious, in the worst sense of the word. It is true, 
no doubt, that at the period of his life concerning which 
we are now called upon to speak, a certain degree of 
discontent with his own position occasionally embittered 
his reflections ; but he had no wish to deprive others of 
the advantage they possessed, nor did he hate them on 
the score of their supposed superiority. It was not his 
inclination to drag men down, let them be situated as 
loftily as they might ; and whatever of vexation or perplex- 
ity he experienced in contemplating their elevation, arose 
altogether from the fact that he could not clearly under- 
stand why he should not be up there too. It was not 
productive of pleasurable sensations to Ploddy, to see 
folks splashed who were more elegantly attired than him- 
self. He never laughed from a window over the disas- 
trous results of a sudden shower ; nor could he find it in 
his heart to hope it would rain when his neighbours set 
gayly forth on a rural excursion. It is a question, indeed, 
whether it had been a source of satisfaction to him to see 
any one's name on a hst of bankrupts. The sherifT's ad- 
vertisements of property <' seized and taken in execution," 
were never conned over with delight by Peter Ploddy; 

5 



PETER PLODDy's DREAM- 



and when the entertainments given in his section of the 
town were as splendid as luxury and profusion could 
make them, it was yet possible for Peter to turn in his bed 
at the sound of the music and of the merriment, without 
a snarl about " there you go," and without a hint that 
there are headaches in store for the gentlemen, with a 
sufficient variety of coughs and colds for the ladies. He 
never said, because an invitation had not been addressed 
to Ploddy, that affairs of this sort make work for the 
doctors. 

It will be observed then, that Peter was not of a cyni- 
cal turn. Neither did he attempt to delude himself, as 
many do, into a belief that he despised the things which 
were denied to him. When his hands found an ampli- 
tude of room in empty pockets, he was candid to him- 
self, and wished them better filled, instead of vainly en- 
deavouring to exalt poverty above riches. When Thomp- 
son married wealth, or Johnson espoused beauty, it was 
no part of Peter's philosophy to think that extravagant 
habits might neutralize the one, and that the love of ad- 
miration could render the other rather a torment than a 
blessing. In short, Peter would have been pleased if 
both together had fallen to his share. Wealth and beauty 
might unite in Mrs. Peter Ploddy without causing con- 
sternation in his mind, and he confessed that the said 
Thompson and Johnson were lucky fellows. 

It being conceded that pedestrianism is a healthy exer- 
cise, and that being jumbled in an omnibus is a salutary 
impulse to the physical constitution, still Peter remained 
unshaken in the opinion, somewhat theoietical though it 
were, that a fine horse is not to be taken amiss, and that 
a smooth rolling carriage, however conducive to indo- 
lence it may be, is not an appendage to be altogether 
contemned. It is true, to be sure, that horses are often 
perilous to a rider's limbs, and it needs no demonstration 



PETER PLODDy's DREAM. 



at this late day to show that vehicular mischances are 
many ; but Peter was willing to encounter the risk, and 
to exchange the toilsome security of going on foot for the 
dangers incident to more elevated conveyance. Haugh- 
tily as they might travel by, he never even indulged him- 
self in a charitable hope that certain people might break 
their necks before they reached home, notwithstanding 
the quantity of dust thrown in his eyes. On such occa- 
sions, it was the habit with Peter to wipe his optics as 
carefully as possible, as he wondered why it was not his 
lot to kick up a similar cloud, to the astonishment of 
some other Peter. 

Here lay the trouble. Why was not Peter Ploddy 
otherwise than he was, if not in circumstances, at least in 
personal attributes ? Why was he environed by disad- 
vantages, when the favours of nature and of fortune had 
been so profusely distributed around him — when almost 
everybody but himself had something to boast about or 
to make capital of? — There, for instance, was his young 
friend Smith, at the apothecary's, over the way — Smith 
was a wit and a mimic — Smith could imitate all sorts of 
things, from the uncorking of a bottle to the plaintive 
howl of an imprisoned dog — his "bumbly-bee" was 
equal to any thing of the sort to be heard among the 
clover blossoms or in the buckwheat field — his mosquito 
would render a sound sleeper uneasy, and he could per- 
form a cat's concert so naturally that old Mr. Quiverton, 
who is nervous in his slumbers, has thus been made, 
more than once, to leap from his bed and dash his slip- 
pers into the yard, as he uttered imprecations upon the 
feline race in general and the apothecary's cats in par- 
ticular. The gifted Smith ! As a calf, too, he was 
magnificent. No one in town could bleat half so well. 
Why could not Ploddy have accomplishments like Smith ? 
— accomplishments which are the instinct of genius, and 
27 



8 PETER PLODDy's DREAM. 

not attainable by labour. For had not Ploddy tried the 
effect of practice .'' Had he not, in the solitude of his 
dormitory, devoted whole evenings to corking and un- 
corking a bottle, listening with all the ears he had to its 
peculiarities of expression — had he not given himself 
assiduously to the study of the " burably-bee" — endea- 
voured to analyze the vocalism of gallinippers, and whined 
industriously through successive hours? And with what 
result, as the reward of so much intensity of application 
and usefulness of labour ? A request from Figgs to quit 
his infernal noise o' nights, without the least doubt on the 
part of that respectable gentleman that the said noise was 
Peter's work. He did not even desire him to abstain 
from imitations — he did not recognise imitation in the 
matter at all. He spoke only of noise, without the slight^ 
est zoological or entomological allusion. And as for Mrs- 
Figgs, when Peter wished to test his progress by an effort 
at the " cat's concert" in the open air, did not her night- 
cap appear at the window and think that Peter Ploddy — 
"you Pete" — had better go to bed than stand screeching 
there ? She did notTisk whether it was Pete — she did not 
say " 'scat" — she knew it was Pete, in the dark. Yet 
Smith had never been so disparaged. He could pass for 
a cat, or for any thing he pleased. He had no difficulty 
in causing people to jump and to cry " get out!" And 
hence every one was proud of knowing Smith. It was 
equal to a free admission to the menagerie. 

Then there was Bill Baritone, at the dry-goods store. 
Bill sang delightfully, and was "invited out" every 
evening. A serenade was not regarded as complete 
without him. Nobody could be in greater demand than 
Bill Baritone, whose sentimental strains went to the heart 
of every young damsel. But when Peter Ploddy tried 
to sing, people stopped their ears — the neighbours sent 
in to know " what's the matter," and the boys in the 



1 



PETER PLODDy's DREAM. 9 

street were of opinion that something had "broke loose" 
—a species of compliment for which Peter had no great 
reUsh, especially as the droll Mr. Smith had woven the 
affair into a story, and gave prime imitations of his vocal 
efforts, which were described as a bunch of " keys," and 
all sorts of " time," past, present, and to come. Peter 
had bought several music books, and had gone so far as 
to ask the price of a guitar ; but he soon abandoned the 
hope of competing with Baritone, though he continued 
to wish that he could sing— at least a little— just enough 
to enable his friends to discover what tune it was, or what 
tune it was meant to be. It is so discouraging to be 
obUged to tell them the name of it. 

Tom Quillet, who was reading law round the corner, 
how he could talk— how he did talk— how he could 
not be prevented from talking! Ploddy had not the 
shadow of a chance when Tom was present. In the 
first place, Ploddy was not very rapid in raking up an 
idea— it often took him a considerable time to find any 
thing to talk about, and to determine whether it was 
wortli talking about, when he had found it ; and then it 
was to be brushed up and dressed in words fit to go out. 
Tom Quillet, on the contrary, was a walking vocabulary, 
who sent forth his words to look for ideas, being but 
Httle particular whether they found them or not; and he 
was, therefore, fully entered upon a speech which scorned 
subjection to the " one hour rule," before Ploddy had 
discovered a corner in his mind where a thought lay bur- 
rowing. Tom, in truth, used his friends as a target, and 
remorselessly practised elocution and oratory upon them 
on all occasions. He could talk Peter Ploddy right up, 
with the greatest ease. He was, in the comparison, like 
steam against sails. He could talk all round Peter— be- 
fore, behind, and on every side. Ploddy was not volu- 
ble, and Quillet either brought down or scared away 



10 PETER PLODDY's DREAM. 

the game, while he was priming his gun to take sight 
at it. 

" Why can't I express myself like that everlasting 
Tom Quillet ?" thought Ploddy, in petulance ; " what he 
says don't often amount to much, to be sure, when you 
come to think of it, but it stretches over a deal of ground 
and hammers out broad and thin. A little goes a great 
way. I wonder if he ever heard anybody but him- 
self say any thing ? I wonder if he believes that any 
body but himself has a right to say any thing ? How 
does he do when he goes to church, I'd like to 
know, and must sit still without contradicting or giving 
his notions on the subject? How does he manage to 
stop his confounded clack long enough to get asleep ? — 
Should there ever be a Mrs. Tom Quillet, and should 
she ever happen to want to make an observation, which 
is very likely, she will die as certain as fate, of not being 
allowed to speak her mind. She'll die of a checked ut- 
terance and of a congestion of words. Her thoughts will 
be dammed up till she chokes wnth them. Tom will 
never give her a chance. He never gives me one — not 
half a one." 

Quillet was a politician, and a rising youth upon the 
stump, whither Ploddy ventured not to follow him. His 
elocutionary failure in social life had closed the gate of 
his ambition in this respect, and he felt assured that to 
gain distinction by the power of tongue did not fall 
within the compass of possibility, so far as he was con- 
cerned. Still he thought it a great thing to be able to 
talk — to be the operator rather than the patient — the 
surgeon in preference to being the subject — a Quillet 
rather than a Ploddy — on the general principle which ob- 
tains in warfare, that the offensive is apt to be a surer 
game than the defensive, as it affords room for choice in 



PETER PLODDY's DREAM. H 

the time and method of attack, whereas the other party is 
never safe, and must always be on the qui vive. 

All these dashing qualities, with others that might be 
named, which are placed first in order as coming first in 
Ploddy's estimation, could perhaps have been dispensed 
with, had he been able to discover things in himself cal- 
culated to compensate for their absence. As a matter of 
immediate concern, he fell back upon his quiet common 
sense and sound u^nobtrusive judgment. We always 
think much of our common sense and sound judgment, 
when surpassed in more showy characteristics. Almost 
everybody has a wonderful degree of judgment— judg- 
ment more precious than other people's genius ; and who 
is endowed with talent equal in value to our common 
sense ? Like the rest of the world, Peter derived conso- 
lations from this source ; but it was his youthful desire to 
be able to flash and glitter, if he could only discover the 
way to excel, or the line for which he was quaUfied. He 
had consumed no litde time in fruitless efforts, musical, 
mimetic and otherwise, to acquire accompUshments 
which were impossibilities to him, as has happened and 
will continue to happen in more cases than that of Mr. 
Peter Ploddy, and he had encountered both toil and dis- 
appointment to convince himself of disqualifications ob- 
vious from the first to every one except himself. But in 
giving up these, he sighed for others equally unattainable. 
He saw that every man's life is a story, and that every 
man must perforce, and for want of a better, be the hero 
of his own story. Now, in examining the magazines, 
the nouvellettes, and the historiettes of the day, it will be 
discovered that heroes are always tall and generally 
valiant. Peter Ploddy was not much above five feet, 
and he resigned from the Thunderpump fire company be- 
cause he had no fancy for riots, or for being hit over the 
head with brass trumpets and iron spanners. He never 



12 PETER PLODDy's DREAM. 

liked " games of that sort." Heroes are graceful too ! but 
Ploddy's dancing was not at all admired. It would have 
been strange if it had been. Heroes are handsome, 
moreover, wdth dark eyes, clustering curls and umbrage- 
ous whiskers. But the mirror insisted upon it to Ploddy 
that he was not handsome — vero;inor rather in another 
direction — that his eyes w^ere of a dubious lightness, his 
hair sandy, and his whiskers discontinuous, uncertain 
and sparse. He gazed sadly upon Mr. Daffodil T\vod, 
the pretty man in the perfumery way and the fancy line. 
Sweet Mr. Twod ! — with such loveliness, it is w^orth 
one's while to strap tight and to make costume a science. 
But Ploddy was not improvable into any resemblance, 
however remote, to the Narcissus family. Nor could he 
approximate otherwise to his impressive friend, Sam- 
son Hyde, the currier, who was wild and wonder- 
ful, at the corner of the street. Samson Hyde — what 
a martial figure he was gifted with — what mountains of 
chest, and what acres of shoulder. And his frown — so 
terrific. How Samson Hyde could fight — how he did 
fight, whenever opportunity occurred. " I wish I was 
Samson Hyde the currier," ejaculated Ploddy, as he 
doubled his fists and endeavoured to scowl Dick, the 
shop-boy, into entire and utter annihilation. As Dick 
only asked whether Mr. Ploddy had got something in his 
eye, that he made such funny faces, Mr. Ploddy felt that 
the attempt to pulverize the boy by mesmerization was 
an undeniable failure — he felt at once, as he attempted 
to hide his confusion by adjusting a box of candles, that 
there was nothing fascinating in his qualities, picturesque 
in his appearance, or heroic in his composition — that he 
could not surpass the men, attract the women or confound 
the urchins — that he had not even the genius to make a 
fortune at a blow, like Mr. Headover Slapdash, the specu- 
lator, who rolled in wealth and built long rows of houses 



PETER PL0DDY'*S DREAM. 13 

• — that he had no inward or outward gifts to afford success 
or prominence — undistinguished and undistinguishable 
Peter Ploddy, young man to Mr. Figgs, the grocer ! 

In meditating upon the injustices of nature and the in- 
equaUUes of fortune, Peter, even at his post of business, 
grew melancholy and abstracted. He sometimes sold 
salt for sugar, and sent people honey instead of oil, to fill 
their lamps and to illuminate their ways. Mr. Figgs 
found it necessary to take him aside and to " talk to him 
seriously," which all who have chanced to be subjected 
to it know to be as unpleasant an operation as a young 
man can undergo and expect to survive. There is 
nothing worse than being " talked to seriously," in an 
empty room, the door locked and no help at hand, 
though elderly gentlemen are so much addicted to it. 

Mrs. Figgs, however, with the gentleness peculiar to 
her sex, w^as not so cruel. She had not much faith in 
having persons " talked to," and, besides, she was con- 
vinced that the young man must be crossed in love, as 
she had an exalted idea of the potency of the tender 
passion, particularly among those employed in the retail 
grocery business, v/hich she regarded as calculated to 
increase the susceptibilities and to soften the heart. Figgs 
had been struck with her, and she had been struck with 
Figgs, under circumstances of this description, and it had 
ever since rendered her firm in the faith that a young 
woman, whether she be sent for soap, sugar or tea, is 
very likely to be smitten by the insinuating individual 
who waits upon her, and that the insinuating individual 
himself is in love all the time, and, for the most part, with a 
great many at a time. However this may be as a general 
rule, though not exactly applicable in the instance under 
discussion, it is nevertheless true that employments have 
their effect, somewhat in the manner suggested by Mrs. 
Figgs. Your baker's boy, for example, who serves cus* 



14 PETER PLODDY's DREAM. 

tomers of a morning — what a destroyer of hearts is he ! 
what a concentration of coquettishness, as he goes flirting 
from door to door, distributing loaves of bread, words of 
love and seductive glances all over town. He is a dan- 
gerous fellow, that same baker's boy — none the less so 
because his experience is so extensive that his own heart 
is Cupid-proof, and is rarely, even in extreme cases, 
scratched deeper than his tally. 

" Peter's crossed in love," repeated Mrs. Figgs, at the 
tea-table, in the little back room ; " Peter's crossed in 
love. He snores so loud you can hear him all over the 
house, and that's a sure sign of being blighted in the 
affections and nipped in the bud, as a body may say. 
First, they snore, and then they borrow pistols, and buy 
clothes-lines, and fippenny-bits- worth's of corroding sub- 
limity, done up in white paper, with the name pasted on 
the outside. It is actually shocking the cruelty of us 
women," and Mrs. Figgs "wiped away a tear." 

" I've heard Peter sythe by the hour," observed Miss 
Priscilla Figgs, in corroboration of her mother. 

"Yes, my dear," added Mrs. Figgs, "young gentle- 
men that have got the mitten, or young gentlemen who 
think they are going to get the mitten, always sythe. It 
makes 'em feel bad, poor innocent little things, and < then 
they heave a sythe,' as the song says. You should have 
heard your father when he was in a state of suspension 
about whether I was going to have him or not. Several 
people thought it was a poi-pus." 

" Do porpusses get the mitten, ma?" interjected little 
Timothy Figgs, who was always on the search for infor- 
mation. "I didn't think fishes ever wore mittens." 

" Pshaw, you're always talking about love and mittens 
and stuff*, as if people had time for such nonsense now- 
a-days," said Mr. Figgs, sternly. Figgs had survived 
Ids sentimental era, and grew impatient at any reminis- 



PETER PLODDy's DREAM. 15 

cences of it. The reference to the "porpus" nettled him. 
« If Peter is crossed as you say, wait till we take an ac- 
count of stock next week. That will cure him, I'll be 
bound. But the long and the short of it is, that if he 
keeps growing stupid, I'll send him adrift. I'm afraid 
he is beginning to read books and buys cheap publica- 
tions. Reading books is enough to ruin anybody. 
There ought to be tee-total societies against it." 

But Peter was not then in love, or, if he were^ he was 
not fully conscious of the fact ; nor did he read books 
enough to do him material injury. His complaint was 
ambition. He wanted to be something, and he did not 
know what, which is an embarrassing situation of affairs 
— he cared not what — rich, handsome, wise, witty, elo- 
quent, great upon the stump or fierce in regard to whis- 
ker — he would be a meteor, large or small — courted or 
feared — loved or envied — if not a cataract, at least a 
ripple on the wave, — more than Peter Ploddy had ever 
been or was like to be, — as funny as Smith, as musical 
as Baritone, as voluble and as impudent as Quillet, as 
pretty as Daffodil Twod, as big and as ferocious as 
Samson Hyde, as wealthy as Headover Slapdash was 
reputed to be. 



It was one of those aflernoons at the close of the 
month of June, which seem to have no end to them— 
when the sun, broad and blazing, appears to be unwilling 
to approach the horizon, and endeavours to make the 
night his own as well as the day — when the eye wearies 
of excess of light — when ice-creams are in their first 
flush of popularity and little boys paddle in the brook — 
when crops rejoice in green, while people sweltfei in 
white, — when nature clothes herself thickly in leaves, 
while the rest of the world divests itself of garments to 
as great an extent as the customs of society will permit. 



16 PETER PLODDy's DREAM. 

It was such an afternoon as this, and the Figgs family 
were abroad for recreation. Dick, the boy, was out on 
an errand, trying how many hours could be consumed in 
a transit from one given point to another. Peter Ploddy 
was alone in the shop, labouring under a suspicion that 
customers must have departed this life, and that buying 
things had become an " obsolete idea" — so he availed 
himself of the opportunity and of a friction match, to find 
recreation in the smoking of a segar. Reclining upon 
coffee bags, he puffed and he mused, he mused and he 
puifed, until the smoke circled around him in lazy clouds, 
and his brain grew as hazy as the atmosphere. Light 
faded, sounds melted indistinctly away, and, at last, Peter 
imagined that he was rapidly travelling over the gulf of 
time, using his coming years for stepping stones, and 
anticipating the occurrences of the future, as if he were 
turning over the pages of a book of prints. The begin- 
ning and the end were equally within his ken, and, fixing 
himself at a point some eight or ten years after date, it 
struck him that he would like to know where " funny 
Smith" might chance to be at that period. 

The place certainly had somewhat the appearance of a 
theatre ; but of a theatre in a very small way — of a thea- 
tre in a consumption, and troubled with a difficulty of 
breathing. The room itself was not very large, but it 
was much too large for the audience, who disposed of 
themselves in various picturesque positions, as if desirous 
of making up in effect what they wanted in numbers. 
One individual had his pedal extremities on the bench 
before him, and looked, as it were, from a rest, his elbows 
placed upon his knees, while his chin reposed in the 
palms of his hands. Another was longitudinally ex- 
tended, with his back against the wall ; while others in- 
tersected at least three benches in their desire for repose, 
lifting tlieir heads at intervals to see what was going on. 



PETER PLODDy's DREAM. 17 

The gentleman in the window seemed to be as comforta- 
ble as any, in his zigzag attitude, with his feet on one side 
and his shoulders on the other ; and he had the advantage 
too of seeing all that occurred, both inside and out, as 
was evident from his frequent remonstrances with certain 
juveniles in the street, who were poking him with a stick 
because he obstructed their view. '^ Git down, I tell 
you !" cried Zigzag, impatiently, every now and then. 
The candles were few and ghastly ; a single fiddle com- 
prised the strength of the orchestra, and it was quite 
enough ; for had there been more of the same sort, it would 
have been a questionable experiment upon the limits of 
auricular endurance. Ploddy paid his entrance money to 
a faded-looking woman, with one disconsolate child in 
her arms, and several others, equally forlorn and unkempt, 
hanging about her, while she herself, who, in her own 
person, united the offices of treasurer, check-taker and 
policeman, (in which latter capacity she often visited the 
window aforesaid, to aid Mr. Zigzag in making them 
<' git down" on the outside,) was a singular compound of 
the remains of beauty, of the slattern and of the virago — 
care-worn indeed, but theatrical still, like the odd volume 
of a romance, thumbed to tatters in the kitchen. A per- 
former was sustaining the regular drama by a series of 
" barn-yard imitations," which struck Ploddy's ear as 
familiar, as also seemed the figure of the imitator, though 
his hollow cheeks, painted face and flaxen wig set recog- 
nition for a moment at defiance. The well-known finale 
of the " cat's concert," however, dissipated doubt. It 
was Smith — the funny Smith — the envied Smith, who 
soon came round to " the front" to hold the baby and 
mind the door, while Mrs. Smith delighted the audience 
wuth a fancy dance. His countenance told a sad tale of 
disappointment, poverty and suffering, and rendered ex- 
planation unnecessary. 
146 



18 PETER PLODDY's DREAM. 

"It is just as well," thought Ploddy, as he slipped 
sadly away, " that I never could succeed in being a funny 
fellow, and made so poor a business of it at the cat's 
concert, and at imitating the bottle and the cork. This 
trying to make people laugh every night, from year to 
year, especially when their mouths are full of gingerbread, 
wouldn't do for me, and doesn't seem to do for Smith. 
I'd rather be Ploddy than Smith, if that's the way it's to be." 

As Peter went meditating along, musing upon the 
melancholy situation to which funny apothecaries, who 
think more of creating merriment than of wielding the 
pestle, may be reduced, he found himself, at the small 
hours of the night, in the streets of the city. He was 
startled by the sound of rattles, and almost overthrown 
by a rush of tipsy and uproarious gentlemen, who battled 
the watch, and would have battled also with Peter, 
but that he secured a birds-eye view of the scene from a 
lofty flight of steps. Mars proved false to Bacchus, and 
victory perched like an eagle upon the banner of the 
functionaries. 

" Well, bang my kerkus for a drum," panted Dogberry, 
"if this 'ere isn't that 'ere singing chap agin. I knows 
him by his mulberry nose. He's on a shindy somewhere 
or other every night, and gets knock'd down and tuck'd 
up three times a week, rig'ler. Old Calico, his daddy- 
in-law, has turned him out — couldn't stand it no longer, 
no how it could be fixed ; he got so blue and blew it out 
so strong. He's a musical genus, you see." 

" The corporation should make a contract for ketching 
him by the month, or else they should keep him ketch'd 
all the time," replied Verges. 

"Put the genus in a wheelbarrow," exclaimed Dog- 
berry, in tones of command, " and make the t'other fellers 
walk." 

A shade of doubt passed over Peter's mind as to 




Put the genus in a wheelbarrow.' exclaimed Dogberry, in tones of command, 
'and make the t'other fellers walk.' " — Book III, j^a^'c 18. 



PETER PLODDy's DREAM. 19 

whether the gifts of Bill Baritone had really, and in the 
long run, proved of benefit to him, and whether it was 
desirable, after all, to enjoy that degree of popularity 
which causes a youth to be "invited out" to conviviali- 
ties every evening. It was a distinction, perhaps, but 
Peter did not exactly like the order to "put the genus in 
the wheelbarrow." 

" But I must go to Quillet," said Peter, " and ask him 
to talk the police people over in the morning, to get poor 
Bill out of his troubles." 

Quillet, however, had exhaled and evaporated. The 
places that had known him, now knew him no more — 
no Quillet at the ward meetings — no Quillet on the stump. 
His talking abilities had converted him at last into a 
mere hanger-on of party — he neglected clients, and cli- 
ents returned the compliment by being equally neglectful 
of him. People praised him that he might do the work 
necessary for political triumph ; but when that was ac- 
complished, it so happened always, that somebody else 
reaped the advantage. " Good fellow, Quillet," said 
they, " but not popular — obnoxious — too much before the 
public. Can't recommend him, you know. Habits not 
very good — doesn't attend to his business — oughtn't to 
go to so many meetings ;" and the unlucky Quillet was 
finally starved out, to do his talking elsewhere. 

And the pretty man, in the fancy line, Mr. Twod — what 
disposition had these years made of him? He had 
dressed so well and lounged so much in the resorts of 
fashion, by way of showing what nature and the tailor had 
done for him, that in the end " Twod's Perfumery" was 
disposed of at public sale, without the slightest regard to 
his feelings on the subject ; and some remorseless stripHng, 
whose face must have been as hard as the contents of his 
bosom, had disfigured the door by a chalked inscription 
to the eflfect that " Pretty Mr. Twod is now safe in quod." 



rO PETER PLODDY's DREAM. 

"A face is not always a fortune," inferred Peter; 
" there are decided differences between being useful and 
being ornamental ;" and he had his own notions on another 
subject, when he became impressed with a belief that 
Samson Hyde, the currier, had disappeared suddenly, to 
avoid the consequences of a fatal fray, in which he was 
deeply implicated. Broad shoulders and alarming whis- 
kers were sinking below par — a man may have too much 
spirit. 

Pioddy was not sure, but it struck him that the bar- 
keeper at the Spread Eagle had a marvellous resem- 
blance to Mr. Headover Slapdash, the speculator, — a 
little older, but yet as restless as ever. What had pos- 
sibly become of his equipages, his magnificent mansion 
in town, his beautiful retreat in the country, his long 
rows of houses, and his immense accumulation of lots ^ 
Gone ! Could it be ? There was nothing more likely. 

" How different things seem to be in the end, from 
what they promise to be in the beginning," muttered 
Peter, as he moved uneasily upon the coffee-bags. 
" Strange, strange, very strange," and his foot dislodged 
a demijohn from its perch. The crash aroused him from 
slumbers and dreams, and he sprang to his feet in bewil- 
derment. 

" Headover Slapdash has exploded — didn't you hear 
the smash?" shouted Peter. 

" Crossed in love, poor thing," said Mrs. Figgs, as 
she rummaged for her sympathizing pocket-handkerchief. 

" Who crossed him, I'd like to know ?" cried Priscilla, 
with a twinge of jealousy. 

"He's becoming foolish," added Figgs. 

" He's been asleep, and has had an inkeybus," ob- 
served the youthful Timothy, whose bias was in a scien- 
tific direction. 

But Peter was rejoicing that it was only in his imagi- 



PETER PLODDy's DREAM. 21 

nation that his friends had suffered, — that however real 
and however probable the whole matter appeared, it was 
still no more than a dream. There were hints in it, not- 
withstanding, which might be rendered useful, not to 
himself only, but to the other parties concerned. Peter 
was sure, at all events, that he had learned something 
about contentment with his position, with his faculties 
and with his physical endowments, which he had never 
acquired before, although he stood greatly in need of if. 
He had, in half an hour or so, anticipated the trying ex- 
periences of years, and saw that every condition has its 
compensations — that the higher the elevation, the more 
imminent the danger of a fall — that brilliancy may 
betray to ruin, and that successes are often lures to de- 
struction. Hum.bleness looked by no means so despi- 
cable as he had previously considered it. 

"Tolderol!" said Ploddy. 

<' You can't sing, Peter," remarked Mrs. Ploddy. 

" Pm glad of it," returned Ploddy, thinking of "genus" 
on the wheelbarrow ; " PU mind my business all the 
better." 

It was to this observation, coupled with a confirmatory 
change in his general business deportment, that Peter 
eventually was indebted for his position as a member of 
the firm of " Figgs and Pbddy," and a very prosperous, 
respectable, and wealthy firm it came to be, owing in part 
to Peter's dream, which also gained him the reputation 
of being a philosopher, in secretly furnishing the material 
for wise discourses upon the folly of inordinate ambition 
and vain desires. 

There was, however, another event in Peter's life 
which deserves to be chronicled as important. 

It was evident that there was something on his mind as 
he fidgetted before the glass — an unusual event with him 
— and he rum])!3d his hair in all directions. 



22 PETER PLODDy's DREAM. 

"It's labour thrown away, Peter — you can't make 
yourself handsome," hinted Priscilla Figgs, rather mali- 
ciously, as she glanced over her sewing. 

But Peter had not been studying himself in the mirror. 
His eyes were on the reflected image of Miss Priscilla 
Figgs, who was by no means a disagreeable object. 
Ploddy had too much taste to look at himself when she 
was near. 

'^Ha! ha! — ho! ho! — I know it," said Peter ; "I've 
had a lucky escape." 

" Not a very narrow one, Pm sure," replied Priscilla, 
tossing her head, " whatever Sally Jones may think." 

" Sally who ?" 

" Sally Jones," responded Priscilla, poutingly. She ap- 
peared uncommonly pretty at that moment, and Peter had 
a sensation. 

"Now, Priscilla!" 

" Now Peter, you know — " 

"I don't — I don't know," and Peter drew nearer to 
the damsel, whose head was turned coquettishly away, 
but not far enough to prevent her downward glance from 
noting the progress of the approach. 

What explanations were made relative to Sally Jones, 
the historian saith not; but the inference is that they 
were satisfactory. 

"Peter, Peter, there's ma!" cried Miss Priscilla Figgs 
as she flew to the opposite side of the room, assuming a 
look of intense demureness, which was perhaps a little 
overacted, if not also a little contradicted by the mantling 
colour of her cheek and the dewy softness of her eyes. 

" Let her come," said Peter, with delight, " all the 
ma's there are, and pa into the bargain." 

Figgs had no objection to Peter as a son-in-law, now 

that he had "got over his foolishness," and was so strict 

n his attention to business, and " ma" was charmed to 



PETER PLODDy's DREAM. 23 

think that her theory of the tender passion in reference 
to grocers, had been so happily illustrated, the more es- 
pecially as she had somewhat risked her reputation upon 
it that Peter was in love. 

Smith, Baritone, Quillet, Twod and Samson Hyde were 
at the wedding, and you may be sure there was a 
merry party. Peter told them his dream as a bachelor's 
legacy of warning against the dangers to which they 
were individually exposed, and the effect was no doubt 
salutary. Certain it is, that Peter Ploddy heard the clever 
imitations, the funny stories, and the good songs— hstened 
to Quillet's neat and appropriate speeches— saw the pretty 
man dance and the valiant man look heroic, without a 
shadow of discontent or envy, satisfied to be, in every 
particular, as he was and as he was like to be. Priscilla 
was decidedly good-looking enough for both, and Peter 
Ploddy w^as a happy man. 

28 



THE PEISON VAN ; OR, THE BLACK MARIA.* 

"Hush! there she comes !" 

It was a pleasant summer morning, — brightly shone 
the sun, and the neighbours gossipped at the door, 
Nancy polished the handles — Susan had the windows 
wide open, and, with handkerchief on head, leaned forth 
to join in the conversation. Mrs. Jenkins had been at 
market, and paused upon the step, with the provision- 
laden Polly. There was quite a discussion of the more 
agreeable points of domestic economy, and a slight sea- 
soning of harmless scandal gave piquancy to the dis- 
course. All were merry. Why, indeed, should they 
not be merry? Innocent hearts and balmy weather — 
sunshine within and sunshine without. No wonder their 
voices rang so cheerfully. Even Mr. Curmudgeon, over 
the way, that splenetic and supercritical bachelor, with 
no partner of his bosom but a flannel waistcoast, and 
with no objects of his tender care but the neuralgics and 
the rheumatics — even Mr. Curmudgeon chirped, and for 
once granted that it was a fine day, with no reservation 
whatever about the east wind, and without attempts to 
dash the general joy by casting forth suspicions that a 
storm was brewing. If he said so — if Mr. Curmudgeon 
confessed the fact — not a doubt can be entertained — it 
was a fine day beyond the reach of cavil — a day free 
from the reproach of a flaw — with no lingering dampness 

* la Philadelphia, the prisons are remote from the Courts of 
Justice, and carriages, which, for obvious reasons, are of a pecu- 
liar construction, are used to convey criminals to and fro. The 
popular voice applies the name of " Black Maria" to each of these 
melancholy vehicles, and, by general consent, this is their dis- 
tmguishing title. 
24 



THE BLACK MARIA. 25 

from yesterday, and with no cloud casting its shadow be- 
fore, prospective of sorrows to-morrow. 

In short, every thing looked warm, cheerful, and gay 

the Nancies, the Pollies, and the Susans were prettier 

than usual— there are pretty days as well as lucky days— 
when cheeks are more glowing and eyes are more bril- 
liant than on ordinary occasions— when Mrs. Jenkins is 
more pleasant than is the wont even of pleasant Mrs. 
Jenkins, and when the extensive brotherhood of the Cur- 
mudgeons pat children on the head, and give them 
pennies — days when one feels as if he were all heart, and 
were gifted with the capacity to fall in love with every- 
body—happy days ! The day of which we speak was 
one of these days — nature smiled, and the people smiled 
in return. Nature approached as near to a laugh as was 
becoming in a matron at her time of life and with so large 
a family, while the people did laugh with the smallest 
provocation thereto. 

" Hush ! there she comes !" said somebody, in tones 
of commingled fear and curiosity. 

" Who comes ?" 

The finger of the speaker pointed steadfastly down the 

street. 

« Who comes ?" 

" Black Maria!" was the half- whispered reply. 

Conversation ceased— a shade of gloom passed over 
every brow — all gazed in the direction indicated — it was 
a melancholy pause — a pause of sad attention. 

"Black Maria!" was the unconscious and involuntary 

response. 

The children looked behind them, as if to ascertain 
whether the doors were open for retreat into the recesses 
of home, and then peeped timidly and cautiously around 
the skirts of their mothers. The mirth of their seniors 
was also checked in mid career. 



26 THE PRISON van; OR, 

«« Black Maria,' sissy," said curly-headed Tom, and 
<< sissy" clasped Tom's hand with the energy of appre- 
hension. 

" < Black Maria,' Tom!" repeated his aunt, with an 
air of warning and admonition, at which Tom seemed to 
understand a whole history, and was abashed. 

"Black Maria!" 

Who was this strange creature — this Black Maria — 
that came like a cloud across the ruddy day — that chills 
the heart wherever she passes ? What manner of thing 
is it which thus frowns gayety itself into silence ? — Black 
Maria ! — Is she some dark enchantress, on whose swart 
and sullen brow malignity sits enthroned ? — or is pesti- 
lence abroad, tangible and apparent? 

The " Black Maria" goes lumbering by. It is but a 
wagon, after all — a w^agon so mysteriously named — a 
w^agon, however, which is itself alone — not one of the 
great family of carts, with general similitudie and vast re- 
lationship, but an instrument of progression which has 
"no brother — is like no brother." It creaks no saluta- 
tion to wheeled cousins, as it wends its sulky way — it 
has no family ties to enable it to find kith and kin, more 
or less humble and more or less proud, in the long line 
of gradation, from the retiring wheelbarrow up to the 
haughty and obtrusive chariot. It is unique in form and 
purpose — it has a task which others are unfitted to en- 
counter, and it asks no help in the discharge of duties. 
It moves scornfully among hacks and cabs, while even 
the dray appears to regard it with a compound feeling of 
dread and disdain. It is, as w^e may say, a vehicular 
outcast, hated but yet feared — grand, gloomy and pecu- 
liar — a Byron among less gifted but more moral car- 
riages — tragedy amid the niceties of commonplace. Such 
is the social isolation of the "Black Maria." Even in 
its hour of repose — in its stabular retreats, the gig caresses 



THE BLACK MARIA. 27 

it not, nor does the carriole embrace it within its shafts. 
The respectability of the stalls shrinks from contact with 
the " Black Maria," and its nights are passed in the open 
court-yard. Nor is it to be wondered at. The very 
physique of the "Black Maria" is repulsive, apart from 
the refinements of mere association. What is it — a cof- 
fin, rude but gigantic, travelling to and fro, between the 
undertaker and the sexton ? Why is it that the eye fails 
to penetrate its dark recesses ? No " sashes" adorn the 
person of the " Black Maria." Unlike all other vehicles, 
it has no apertures for light and air, save those openings 
beneath the roof, from which a haggard and uneasy glance 
flashes forth at intervals, or from which protrudes a hand 
waving, as it were, a last farewell to all that gives dehght 
to existence. Sternly and rigidly sits the guard in the 
rearward chamber, and beyond him is a door heavy with 
steel. It is no pleasure carriage then — it is not used as 
a means of recreation nor as a free-will conveyance, tra- 
velling at the guidance of those who rest within. No — 
they who take seats in the " Black Maria" feel no honour 
in their elevation — they ride neither for health nor amuse- 
ment. They neither say « drive on," nor designate the 
place of destination. If it were left to them, they would, 
in all likelihood, ask to be taken another way, and they 
would sooner trot on foot for ever, than to be thus raised 
above contact with mud and mire. They are not impa- 
tient either — they make no objection to the slowness of 
the gait. In short, they would like to get out and dismiss 
all cumbrous pomp and ceremonious attendance. 

But there are bars between — yes, bolts and bars, and 
there is nothing of coijaplaisance on the brow of him who 
has these iron fastenings at control. PoUte requests 
would be unheeded, and he has heard the curses of de- 
spair — the sobs of remorse — the bitter wailings of heart- 
broken wretchedness too often to be much moved by 



28 THE PRISON VAN ; OR, 

solicitations such as these. Nor is he to be shaken by 
the fierce regards of hardened recklessness. Even the 
homicide may threaten — red murder itself may glower 
upon him with its fevered glare ; but there is neither 
■weakness nor terror in the hard business-like deportment 
with w^hich he silences the exuberance of lacerated feel- 
mg. He is but a check-taker at the door, and cares 
naught about the play within. Tears may fall — convul- 
sive sorrow may rend the frame ; but what is that to him 
whose limited service it is to watch and ward — to keep 
them in and keep them out ? To weep is not his voca- 
tion, who sits at the door. He has no part in the drama, 
and is no more bound to suffer than they who snufT the 
candles for the stage. His emotions are for home con- 
sumption — his sympathies are elsewhere — left behind with 
his better coat and hat, and well it is so, or they would 
soon be torn to tatters — all — heart, cloth, and beaver. 

What, then, is this "Black Maria," so jocularly 
named, yet so sad in its attributes ? The progress of time 
brings new inventions — necessity leads to many devia- 
tions from the beaten track of custom, and the criminal, 
in earlier days dragged through crowded streets by the 
inexorable officers of the law, exposed to the scorn, 
derision or pity, as the case might be, of every spectator, 
now finds a preliminary dungeon awaiting him at the very 
portals of justice — a locomotive cell — a penitentiary upon 
wheels. He is incarcerated in advance, and he begins 
his probationary term at the steps of the court-house. 

Once there was an interval : 

" Some space between the theatre and grave ;" 

some breathing time from judge and jury to the jailer, — 
a space to be traversed, with the chances incident to a 
journey. Constables on foot are but flesh and blood, 
after all, and an adroit blow from a brawny thief has often 
laid them prostrate. A short quick evasion of the body 



THE BLACK MARIA. 29 

has extricated the collar from many a muscular grasp, and 
once it was a thing of not unfrequent occurrence that the 
rogue flew down the street, diving into all sorts of in- 
terminable alleys, while panting tipstaves "toiled after 
him in vain." There were no cowardly, sneaking 
advantages taken then — enterprise was not cabined in a 
perambulating chicken-coop — valour had room to swing 
its elbow, and some opportunity to trip up the heels of 
the law. But as things are at present managed, a man 
is in prison as he traverses the city — in prison, with but 
a plank between him and the moving concourse of the 
free — in prison, while the horses start at the crack of the 
whip — in prison, as he whirls around the corner — in pri- 
son, yet moving from place to place — jolted in prison — • 
perhaps upset in prison. He hears the voices of the 
people — the din of traffic — the clamours of trade — the 
very dogs run barking after him, and he is jarred by 
rough collisions ; but still he is in prison — more painfully 
in prison, by the bitterness of intruding contrast, than if 
he were immured beyond all reach of exterior sound ; and 
when the huge gates of his place of destination creak 
upon their hinges, to the harsh rattling of the keeper's 
key, the captive, it may be, rejoices that the busy world 
is no longer about him, mocking his wretchedness w^ith 
its cheerful hum. 

If it were in accordance with the spirit of the age to 
refine upon punishment and to seek aggravation for 
misery, the "Black Maria" would perhaps furnish a hint 
that the pang might be rendered sharper, by secluding 
the felon from liberty by the most minute interval — that 
freedom might be heard, yet not seen — as the music of 
the ball-room fitfally reaches the chamber of disease and 
suffering — that he might be in the deepest shadow, yet 
know that light is beaming close around him ; in the cen- 
tre of action, yet deprived of its excitements — isolated in 



30 THE PRISON van; or, 

the midst of multitudes — almost jostled by an invisible 
concourse — dead yet living — a sentient corpse. 

It is not then to be marvelled at that the " Black 
Maria" causes a sensation by her ominous presence — 
that labour rests from toil when the sound of her wheels 
is heard — that the youthful shrink and the old look sad, 
as she passes by. Nor is it strange that even when empty 
she is encircled by a curious but meditative crowd, scan- 
ning the horses with a degree of reverential attention 
which unofficial horses, though they were Barbary cours- 
ers or Andalusian steeds, might vainly hope to excite. 
The very harness is regarded with trepidation, and the dri- 
ver is respectfully scrutinized from head to foot, as if he 
were something more or less than man ; and if the guard 
does but carelessly move his foot, the throng give back 
lest they should unwittingly interfere with one who is 
looked upon as the ultimatum of criminal justice. Should 
the fatal entrance be left unclosed, see how the observant 
spectator manoeuvres to obtain a knowledge of its inte- 
rior, without approaching too closely, as if he laboured 
under an apprehension that the hungry creature would 
yawn and swallow him, as it has swallowed so many^ 
body, boots, and reputation. Now, he walks slowly to 
the left hand, that he may become acquainted with every 
particular of the internal economy afforded by that point 
of view. Again, he diverges to the right, on another 
quest for information. Do not be surprised, if he were 
also to "squat," and from that graceful posture glance 
upwards to ascertain the condition of the flooring, or sidle 
about to note the style of the lynch-pins. A mysterious 
interest envelopes the " Black Maria ;" every feature 
about her receives its comment — she has not a lineamenv 
which is not honoured by a daily perusal from the public. 
She is the minister of justice — the great avenger — the 
receptacle into which crime is almost sure to fall, and as 




" Here comes one-a woman-traces of comeliness still linger even amid the more 
enduring marks of sin, poverty, and sorrow.''— Book III, 2x1 ge 32. 



THE BLACK MARIA. 31 

she conveys the prisoner to trial or bears him to the fulfil- 
ment of sentence, she is still the inspirer of terror. There 
may be some, no doubt — perhaps there may be many — 
who have forebodings at her approach, and tremble as 
she passes, with an anticipation of such a ride for them- 
selves. Could upbraiding conscience come more fearfully 
than in this " Black Maria's" shape, or could the sleep- 
ing sinner have compunctious visitings more terrible thar. 
the dream in which he imagines himself handed into this 
penitential omnibus, as an atonement for past offences ? 
What, let us ask, can be more appalling than the " Black 
Maria" of a guilty mind ? 

It is a matter of regret that history must be the work 
of human hands — that the quill must be driven to pre- 
serve a record of the past, and that inanimate objects — 
cold, passionless, and impartial witnesses — are not gifted 
with memory and speech. Much has been done — a long 
array of successive centuries have fidgeted and fumed ; 
but, after all, it is little we know of the action of those 
who have gone before. But if a jacket now were capa- 
ble of talk, then there would be biography in earnest. 
We would all have our Boswells, better Boswells than 
Johnson's Boswell. A dilapidated coat might be the 
most venerable and impressive of moralists. Much could 
it recount of frailty, and the results of frailty, in those 
who have worn it ; furnishing sermons more potent than 
the polished compositions of the closet. Could each 
house narrate what it has known of every occupant, 
human nature might be more thoroughly understood than 
it is at present. What beacons might not every apart- 
ment set up, to warn us from the folly which made ship- 
wreck of our predecessors! Even the mirror, while 
flattering vanity, could tell, an it would, how beauty, 
gi'own wild with its own excess, fell into premature 
decay. Ho I ho ! how the old goblet would ring, as we 



32 THE PRISON van; or, 

drain the sparkling draught, to think of the many such 
scenes of roaring jollity it has witnessed, and of the mul- 
titude of just such jovial fellows as are now carousing, 
it has sent to rest before their time, under the pretence of 
making them merry ! Wine, ho ! let the bottle speak. 
Your bottle has its experiences — a decanter has seen the 
world. Thou tattered robe — once fine, but now de- 
cayed — nobility in ruins — how sourly thou smilest to dis- 
course of the fall from drawing-roorns to pawn-brokers' 
recesses. What a history is thine — feeble art thou — very 
thin and threadbare ; still thou hast seen more of weak- 
ness, ay, in men and women too, than is now displayed 
in thine own ruin. Yea, cobble those boots for sooterkin 
— they are agape, indeed ; yet were once thought fit or- 
naments for the foot of fashion. Leathern patchwork, 
thou hast been in strange places in thy time, or we are 
much mistaken. Come, thy many mouths are open, and 
thy complexion scarce admits of blushing — tell us about 
thy furtive wanderings. 

Let then this " Black Maria" wag her tongue — for 
tongue she has, and something of the longest — and she 
would chatter fast enough, I warrant me. Let us regard 
her as a magazine of memoirs — a whole library of per- 
sonal detail, and as her prisoners descend the steps, let 
us gather a leaf or two. 

Here comes one — a woman — traces of comeliness stil^ 
linger even amid the more enduring marks of sin, poverty, 
and sorrow. Her story has been told before, in thousands 
of instances, and it will be told again and again and again 
There is not much that is new in the downward career of 
those who fall. It is an old routine. Giddiness, folly, and 
deception, it may be, at the outset — remorse, misery, 
and early death, at the close. Yes, yes — the old father 
was humble in his ploddings — the mother had no aspir- 
ings above her sphere ; but she who now is weeping bitter 



THE BLACK MARIA. 33 

tears, she longed for silks and satins and gay company. 
It was but a cracked and crooked looking-glass that told 
her she was beautiful, but its pleasing tale was easily be- 
lieved — for perfumed youths endorsed its truth, and whis- 
pered Fanny that she was worthy of a higher lot than that 
of toiling the humble wife of dingy labour. Those secret 
meetings — those long walks by moonlight — those stories 
of soft affection, and those brilliant hopes! Day by day 
home grew more distasteful — its recurring cares more 
wearying — the slightest rebuke more harsh, and Fanny 
fled. That home is desolate now. The old father is 
dead, the mother dependent upon charity, and the daugh- 
ter is here, the companion of felons, if not a felon herself. 

Another! — that dogged look, man, scarcely hides the 
wretchedness within. You may, if it seems best before 
these idle starers, assume the mask of sullen fierceness. 
" Who cares," is all well enough, indeed, but still the 
thought travels back to days of innocence and happiness. 
You set out in the pursuit of pleasure and enjoyment, but 
it has come to this at last ; all your frolickings and drink- 
ings — your feastings, your ridings, and your gamblings. 
You were trusted once, I hear — your wife and children 
were happy around you. But you were not content. 
There were chances to grow rich rapidly — to enjoy a 
luxurious ease all your life, and to compass these you 
were false to your trust. Shame and disgrace ensued ; 
dissipation environed your footsteps, and more daring vice 
soon followed. It is a short step from the doings of the 
swindler to the desperate acts of the burglar or the coun- 
terfeiter. You, at least, have found it so. Well, glare 
sternly about you — turn upon the spectators with the 
bitter smile of defiance. It will be different anon, in 
hopeless solitude — the past strewed with the wreck cf 
reputation — the future all sterility. 

Here is one who had a golden infancy. Where m.9 
147 



34 THE PRISON van; or, 

there a child more beautiful than he ? No wonder his 
parents thought no cost too great for his adornment. 
Who can be surprised that caresses were lavished upon 
the darling, and that his tender years knew no restraint. 
But it was a strange return in after time, that he should 
break his mother's heart — plunder his father, and become 
an outcast in the lowest haunts of vice. Were the graces 
of Apollo bestowed for such a purpose ? 

This fellow, now, was destroyed by too much severity. 
His childhood was manacled by control. Innocent plea- 
sures were denied — his slightest faults were roundly 
punished — there was no indulgence. He was to be 
scourged into a virtuous life, and, therefore, falsehood 
and deceit became habitual — yes, even before he knew 
they were falsehood and deceit ; but that knowledge did 
not much startle him, when the alternative was a lie or 
the lash. Had the cords of authority been slackened a 
little, this man might have been saved ; but while the 
process of whipping into goodness was going on, he paid 
a final visit to the treasury and disappeared. Being 
acquainted with no other principle of moral government 
than that of fear and coercion, he continues to practise 
upon it, and helps himself whenever the opportunity 
seems to present itself of doing so w'ith no pressing 
danger of disagreeable consequences. Mistakes, of 
course, are incident to his mode of life. Blunders will 
occur, and, in this way, the gentleman has had the plea- 
sure of several rides in the " Black Maria." 

Here is an individual, who was a " good fellow," — 
the prince of good fellows — a most excellent heart — so 
much heart, indeed, that it filled not only his bosom, but 
his head also, leaving scant room for other furniture. 
He never said " no" in his life, and invariably took 
advice when it came from the wrong quarter. He was 
always so much afraid that people would be offended, if 



THE BLACK MARIA. 35 

he happened not to agree with them, that he forgot all 
about his own individual responsibility, and seemed to 
think that he was an appendage and nothing more. 
Dicky Facile, at one time, had a faint consciousness of 
the fact, when he had taken wine enough, and would say, 
" No, I thank you," if requested to mend his draught. 
But if it were urged, " Pooh ! nonsense ! a little more 
won't hurt you," he would reply, " Won't it, indeed ?" 
and recollect nothing from that time till he woke next 
day in a fever. Dicky lent John his employer's cash, 
because he loved to accommodate ; and finally obliged 
the same John by imitating his employer's signature, 
because John promised to make it all right in good time ; 
but John was oblivious. 

The " Black Maria" has a voluminous budget, — she 
could talk all day without pausing to take breath. She 
could show how one of her passengers reached his seat 
by means of his vocal accomplishments, and went mu- 
sically to destruction, like the swan — how another had such 
curly hair that admiration was the death of him — how 
another was so fond of being jolly that he never paused 
until he became sad — how another loved horses until 
they threw him, or had a taste for elevated associations 
until he fell by climbing — how easily, in fact, the excess 
of a virtue leads into a vice, so that generosity declines 
into wastefulness, spirit roughens into brutality, social 
tendencies melt into debauchery, and complaisance opens 
the road to crime. We are poor creatures all, at the 
best, and perhaps it would not be amiss to look into 
ourselves a little before we entertain hard thou2:hts of 
those who chance to ride in the "Black Maria;" for, as 
an ex-driver of that respectable caravan used to observe, 
" there are, I guess, about two sorts of people in this 
world — them that's found out, and them that ain't found 
out — them that gets into the « Black Mara,' and them 



36 THE BLACK MARIA. 

that don't happen to be cotch'd. People that are 
cotch'd, has to ketch it, of course, or else how would 
the 'iishal folks — me and the judges and the lawyers — 
yes, and the chaps that make the laws and sell the law 
books — make out to get a livin'? But, on the general 
principle, this argufies nothin'. Being cotch'd makes no 
great difference, only in the looks of things; and it hap- 
pens often enough, I guess, that the wirchis looking gen- 
tleman who turns up his nose at folks, when the consta- 
ble's got 'em, is only wirchis because he hasn't been 
found out. That's my notion." 

And not a bad notion either, most philosophic Swizzle, 
only for the fault of your class — a little too much of gene- 
ralization. Your theory, perhaps, is too trenchant — too 
horizontal in its line of division. But it too often happens 
that the worst of people are not those who take the air in 
the «' Black Maria." 

Still, however, you that dwell in cities, let not this 
moral rumble by in vain. Wisdom follows on vour 
footsteps, drawn by horses. Experience is wagoned 
through the streets, and though your temptations be many, 
while danger seems afar off, yet the catastrophe of your 
aberrations is prophetically before the eye, creaking and 
groaning on its four ungainly wheels. The very whip 
cracks a warning, and the whole vehicle displays itself 
as a travel] ing caution to all who are prone to sin. It is 
good for those who stand, to take heed lest they fall. 
But we have an addition here which should be even 
more impressive, in these times of stirring emulation. 
Take heed, lest in your haste to pluck the flowers of life 
without due labour in the field, you chance to encounter, 
not a fall alone, but such a ride as it has been our en- 
c^eavour to describe — a ride in the "Black Maria." 



SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE. 

A SEiRCH AFTEB HAFPIKESS. 

<«How happy I'll be to-morrow!" exclaimed little Sly- 
der Downehylle, in anticipation of Christmas; "oh, how 
happy I shall be to-morrow!" 

" Couldn't you contrive to be happy a little now ?" 
replied Uncle John, who had learned somewhat to dis- 
trust anticipation and its gorgeous promises. 

" Happy now, Uncle John !" retorted little Slyder 
Downehylle, rather contemptuously, " happy now ! — what 
with, I should like to know — what shall I be happy with 
— now? Where's the candy, the cakes, the pies — 
where is the hobby-horse that somebody's going to give 
me — and all the Christmas gifts? How I wish to-mor- 
row had come-^w^hat a long day^what a long evening 
— what a great while I've got to sleep !" 

Litde Slyder Downehylle became quite cross, and 
Uncle John whistled. Twenty-four hours afterward, little 
Slyder Downehylle was still more cross — he had been 
happy with candy, with cakes and with pies, until he 
was very uncomfortable indeed ; he had been happy with 
toys, until he had quarrelled with his little companions 
and strewed the room with broken playthings ; he had 
been happy with his hobby-horse, until he got a fall. 

"Oh, what a stupid day!" said little Slyder Downe- 
hylle, "I wish to-morrow would come — I'll be so happy 
at Aunt Betsy's." 

It is unnecessary to intrude at Aunt Betsy's, for the 
events there were of a character strongly resembling what 
had already occurred. Little Slyder Downehylle went 
to bed in tears. 

37 



38 SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE. 

It was always so with the unfortunate Slyder Downe- 
hylle. Throughout Hfe, he wanted something to be 
happy with ; and strangely enough, it universally occurred 
that when he had obtained the thing, it did not prove to 
be exactly the thing he wanted. His expectations were 
never realized, and he was, therefore, constantly in a state 
of disappointment. Unlucky Slyder Downehylle! It 
was deplorable too that such should be the case, for Slyder 
Downehylle was anxious to be happy — he was always 
looking forward to be happy — for something " to be happy 
with." He never got up in the morning but that it was 
his resolve to be happy in the afternoon — and, if not suc- 
cessful in accomplishing his purpose at that time, he en- 
deavoured, as far as possible, to retrieve the failure by form- 
ing a similar determination for the evening. No one ever 
had a greater variety of schemes for living happy — very 
happy — than he ; for living happy next week, for living 
happy next month, or next year ; but it appeared to him 
that a malignant fate was sure to interfere, in order that 
his p.rojects might be frustrated. At school, he was 
always thinking how happy he would be on Saturday 
afternoon; but then sometimes it rained on Saturday 
afternoon, or his companions would not do as he wished 
them to do on Saturday afternoon, or it may be that, 
although he had toiled hard for pleasure on Saturday after- 
noon, and the toil for pleasure is often the severest of 
work, he returned home weary, dispirited, and out of 
temper. Of course, it was unavoidable that his pleasure 
should be postponed until some other Saturday afternoon. 
And it was even so with the larger holidays. They 
never were exactly what they ought to have been — what 
they promised to be — what they seemed to be, when 
viewed from a distance. If Slyder Downehylle went a- 
fishing, why a treacherous bank would often give way, 
and then — pray, who can possibly be happy when drip- 



SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE. 39 

ping wet, with his clothes on? Nobody but poodles. 
What felicity is there in losing one's shoe in a swamp ? 
Who is perfectly happy when scouring across the plain, 
like "swift Camilla," with old Jenkins' big dog — that 
dog always bites — rustic dogs do — following close at his 
heels, widely opening a mouth which shows no need 
of the dentist ? Then, if Slyder Downehylle went skat- 
ing, it not unfrequently happened that he cried with cold, 
— what a strange arrangement it is not to have the best 
of skating on the warmest days ! At other seasons, there 
was the sun. It never rains but it pours, in this world. 
Is it happiness, think ye, to have one's dear little nose — 
incipient Roman, or determined pug, as the case may 
be — all of a blister, and to have one's delectable coun- 
tenance as red and as hot as a scarlet fever? "There's 
lime in the sack" — invariably, in Slyder Downehylle's 
sack — it would be easy to make mortar of it. 

The young Downehylle, finding that happiness eluded 
his grasp while a boy, made sure of throwing a noose 
over its head when he should be a man. What on earth 
is there to prevent a man's being happy, if he chooses — 
especially if a man has money, as was the case in the 
present instance. Uncle John and Aunt Betsy both being 
gathered to their fathers and mothers. May not a man 
do as he pleases ? — go to bed when he pleases, and get 
up when he pleases ? — eat what he pleases and drink 
what he pleases ? A man is not compelled to learn les- 
sons. All his afternoons are Saturday afternoons — his 
hoUdays last all the year round. Who would not be a 
man? «0h, when I am a man!" said Slyder Downe- 
hylle. " I wish I was a man !" exclaimed Slyder Downe- 
hylle. " I want to be a man !" cried Slyder Downehylle, 
with impatience. 

Sooner or later, at least in the eye of the law, most 
bovs become men, in despite of remonstrance. These 
29 



40 SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE. 

boys are remarkable for an upstart tendency, and the 
Downehylles themselves are not exempt from the pecu- 
liarity. So Slyder Downehylle was a man at last, though, 
on the whole, it must be confessed that he did not derive 
the satisfaction from it that he had been led to expect. 



* 



Slyder Downehylle was extended at full length upon 
a sofa. 

«I say, Spifflikens, what shall I be at? Fm twenty- 
one — I've got plenty of money — I'm as tired as thunder 
already — what shall I be at, Spifflikens ?" 

"Lend me a hundred, and buy yourself a buggy, — 
why don't you get a buggy, to begin with ?" 

"Yes, Spifflikens, I will. You're right — the Downe- 
hylles were alw^ays great on buggies, you know, Spiffli- 
kens." 

It was Slyder Downehylle's theory, after this conver- 
sation — for he often theorized — that happiness was, to 
some degree, vehicular ; that, like respectability, it was 
to be found in a gig, if it were to be found anywhere. 
He, therefore, bought him a sulky and a fast trotter — a 
mile in two minutes or thereabouts. What could escape 
a man who followed so rapidly ? If you wish to be suc- 
cessful in the pursuit of happiness, do not forget to buy a 
sulky — there's nothing like a sulky. 

" Aha ! — that's it !" muttered Slyder Downehylle, as he 
tugged at the reins, and went whizzing along the turn- 
pike in a cloud of dust, passing every thing on the road, 
and carrying consternation among the pigs, the ducks, 
and the chickens. 

Slyder thought that this was "it" for several consecu- 
tive days ; but as the novelty wore off — there's the rub— 
(that Hamlet was rather a sensible fellow — did he too 
keep a "fast trotter?") — Slyder was not so sure whether 
it was the thing exactly, and on the recommendation of 



SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE. 41 

his friend Spifflikens, who borrowed another hundred o; i 
the occasion, he endeavoured to improve it a little by 
drinking champagne and playing billiards at the " Cot- 
tage." Fast trotters and champagne — fast trotters and 
biUiards harmonize very well. Under this combination, 
Slyder appeared to think that "it" was considerably 
more like the thing than before. He had found " some- 
thing to be happy with," at last, and so had Spifflikens. 
It was not, however, so difficult to make Spiffy a happy 
man, — only allow him to go ahead, and say nothing 
about '« returns." He hates any thing sombre — any thing 
"dun." 

"Now I'm happy," said Slyder Downehylle, as he 
stood on the portico of the " Cottage," and saw every eye 
fixed with admiration on his establishment, as the boy 
led his horse and sulky through the crowd of vehicles. 
"That's it, at last!" and he lighted another cigar and 
called for an additional bottle of iced champagne. " That's 
it, certainly," remarked Spifflikens, at the explosion of 
the cork. 

Slyder Downehylle was perfectly satisfied that this was 
indeed "it," for a considerable portion of the afternoon, 
and, to tell the truth, when he remounted his buggy, 
nodding his head to the bystanders, as he hung his coat- 
tails over the back of the vehicle, he was not a little 
" elevated." 

" There — let him go!" said he, tossing a half-dollar to 
the hostler's deputy. 

Mr. Downehylle's sulky flew like lightning across the 
lawn. 

" Splendid !" ejaculated the spectators. 

" Superiaw — fine!" added Spifflikens. 

The dogs barked — the coloured gentlemen, who offici- 
ated as waiters, grinned from ear to ear. — There was quite 
a sensation at the " Cottage." 



42 SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE. 

"That's it, at last!" said Slyder Downehylle, trium- 
phantly. But he forgot that existence, short as it is, can- 
not be crowded all into the exhilarating moment of a 
" start." Life is not to be distilled and condensed in this 
way, though his life seemed to come as near it as possi- 
ble, on the occasion referred to. 

Why are we made ambitious ? Why will we endea- 
vour to jump over puddles that are too wide, when we 
so often miss immortality by no more than a hair's 
breadth ? But " touch and go" is the secret of great 
enterprises. Slyder Downehylle was struck with a de- 
sire to sublimate the sublime — to " o'ertop old Pelion," 
and old Pelion, as it was natural he should, resented the 
insult. Downehylle was allowed to "touch" — we 
often do that — but there was a veto on his " go." He 
wished to shave the gate-post, in his curricular enthusi- 
asm — to astonish the natives with his charioteering skill. 
Yet the poplars might have reminded him of Phaeton — 
of Phaeton's sisters weeping, lank and long. 

It certainly was the champagne — that last bottle, so 
well iced. 

Mr. Downehylle was out in his calculation by about 
the sixteenth part of an inch. He was on a lee-shore. 

A cloud of splinters went up and came down again. 
<» There is but a Frenchman the more in France," said a 
Bourbon on the Restoration. It was also quite evident 
that there was a sulky the less in existence. As this 
could not be considered the " fast trotter's" business — 
he having no further concern with the matter than to do 
a certain number of miles in a specific number of mi- 
nutes — he, therefore, went straight on to fulfil his part of 
the contract, and it is to be presumed that he was success- 
ful, as nothing has been heard from him since. 

<t That's not it, after all," murmured Mr. Slyder Downe- 
hylle, as he was carried into the Cottage for surgical aid. 



SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE 



43 



The bystanders, lately so full of admiration, ungra- 
ciously placed their thumbs upon their noses, and wag- 
gled their fingers. Greatness always falls when it meets 
with an upset. 

" What could you expect from a fellow that holds his 
elbows so, when he drives?" was the general remark. 
When we are down, every one can see the reason why. 
The world is always full of sagacity, after the event. 

Slyder Downehylle is known by the coloured waiters 
at the Cottage as «' the gemplin that got spilt," and he 
was so knocked down by the affair that he felt flat at the 
shghtest allusion to it. He never hunted happiness in a 
buggy again, but went slowly home in the omnibus, and, 
though it did not enable him to journey very rapidly, he 
yet contrived, while in it, to arrive at the conclusion that, 
if " fast trotters" carried others to felicity, the mode of 
travel was too rough for him. 

He was puzzled. What could be the matter? He 
was a man, a man of cash— money in both pockets ; but 
yet Slyder Downehylle was not happy— not particularly 
happy. On the contrary, striking an average, he was, 
for the most part, decidedly miserable. He yawned 
about all the morning ; he was not hungry in the after- 
noon ; he was seldom sleepy at night, — vexatious ! 

" There's something I want," thought Slyder Downe- 
hylle; " but what it is— that's more than I can tell ; but 
it is something to be happy with. What other people 
get for the purpose, that they go grinning about so, hang 
me if I can discover." 

Slyder Downehylle was rather good-looking, about these 
times— not decidedly " a love," but well enough ; and so, 
as nature had been propitious, he struck out in a new Ime— 
a very popular line— the hair Hne. He cultivated whis- 
kers, "fringi^ig the base of his countenance;" he setup a 
moustache ; he starred his under lip with an imperial, and 



44 SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE. 

he balanced the superstructure with the classical " goatee."* 
Medusa herself never had more luxuriant curls. When 
Slyder Downehylle wanted to find himself, he was obliged 
to beat the bushes. He passed half the day with a brush 
in his hand, in adjusting his embellishments — in giving 
them the irresistible expression ; and the rest of the time 
was consumed in carrying them up and down all manner of 
streets, and to all sorts of pubhc places. Slyder Downe- 
hylle was now the envy of the young bloods about town, 
and was regarded as a perfect Cupidon by the ladies. 
How, indeed, could it be otherwise ! Birnam Wood had 
come to Dunsinane — not a feature was discernible. Esau 
and Orson were shavelings and shavers to Slyder Downe- 
hylle. But, notwithstanding the fact that Samson found 
strength in his hair, Slyder was not so lucky. A thick- 
set hedge cannot keep out ennui. It is true that the buf- 
falo and the bison at the menagerie, took Mr. Slyder 
Downehylle for a patriarch of the tribe, fresh from the head 
waters of the Oregon ; yet, after all, Slyder's spirit was 
nearly as bald of comfort as the "hairless horse" — that 
unfashionable quadruped. It must be confessed, how- 
ever, that there w^ere gleams of consolation attendant upon 
his bristly condition. The servants at the hotels styled 
him " mounsheer." How delightful it is to be mistaken 
for what you are not! People thought he talked " pretty 
good English, considerin'," and, best of all, the little 
boys ran backwards that they might look with wonder at 
his face, while the smaller children went screaming into 
the house to call their mammas to see the '* funny thing." 
But " false is the light on glory's plume ;" and it is no 
less false on glory's hair. Even the excitement of such 
enviable distinction as this soon wears away, and it may 
be questioned whether, barring the expense of soap, a 
furry- faced gentleman is, in the long run, much happier 
than the more sober citizen who has so little taste for the 



SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE. 45 

picturesque as to shave several times a week, and who is 
neither a "foundling of the forest" nor a perambulatory 
Moses, alwayj among the bulrushes. 

Slyder Downehylle, therefore, reinforced his whiskers 
by an elaborate care in dress. He was padded into a 
model of symmetry ; but, although the buckram was judi- 
ciously placed, he soon ascertained that this was not the 
kind of bolstering he wanted. The cotton made him 
warm, but it did not make him happy — not quite. It 
was " nothing to be thus," unless one were " safely thus." 
Slyder Downehylle began to feel small, when his muscu- 
lar developments were hung upon the bed-post. Which 
was Slyder, in the main — he beneath the cover, or that 
larger part of him against the wall ? He was tired of 
packing and unpacking; wearied with being "specta- 
cular." 

It was not exactly kind in Uncle John and Aunt 
Betsy — though they thought it was — thus to bequeath 
their savings to Slyder Downehylle. Their legacy per- 
plexed him sadly. He discovered, in a very short time, 
that money is not in itself — notwithstanding the fact that 
it is generally known as the " one thing needful" — the 
material of happiness. But he was clear in his own mind 
that it was something to be got with money. Still, how- 
ever, he could not find it — that " something to be happy 
with" — that cake, that candy, that sugar-ice, that hobby- 
horse. When his game was run down, why, it was only 
a fox after all. 

" Life's an imposition — a humbug," said Slyder 
Downehylle, pettishly ; " Fve tried much of the fun that's 
said to be in it, and I'm beginning to have an idea it's a 
confounded stupid piece of business, when a man has 
seen it pretty much all through, like a farce at the thea- 
tre. I'm sure I don't know what to be at next. There's 
a man to be hung to-morrow ; but I've seen two or three 



46 SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE. 

fellows hung, and they do it just alike. The fun is soon 
got out of that. Then there's to be a fight somewhere 
this afternoon ; but what's a fight, or a race, or any thing, 
in short ? A spree is to come off to-night at Crinkum- 
crankum's ; but I suppose every thing's to travel dowTi 
our throats in the old way — botheration!" 

" You should go it," remarked Spifflikens, " go it 
strong — that's the way to scatter the blue devils : go it 
strong ; and, as the poet judiciously remarks, « go it while 
you're young.' That's the time — lend me fifty, and I'll 
show you a thing or two — there are several things to be 
seen yet, by individuals who don't wear spectacles. This 
is good brandy, Slyder — prime brandy — where did it 
come from ? Have you got any more ? Brandy's whole- 
some. It agrees with almost ever}'body." 

This postulate is not exactly so self-evident as Mr. 
Spifflikens thought it to be ; but while it is not clearly 
proved that brandy agrees with everybody, yet it was 
plain enough that Spifl^likens agreed with it, and Slyder 
Downehylle began likewise to have a slight agreement 
with that adjective, both in number and person. 

He followed the advice of Spifflikens. No one knew 
the world better than Spifflikens, and, therefore, Spiffli- 
kens must, of course, be right, — so Slyder Downehylle 
became convivial. He slept by day and he frolicked by 
nidit. If this was not the lon^-souo^ht " it," where could 
"it" be. Slyder Downehylle was merry — exceeding 
jocose. He was sometimes turned out of three theatres 
in one eveninc: — he had fought in a ball-room — had 
thrashed several watchmen — had been honoured with 
<< private hearings" by the magistracy, and had been, 
more than once almost beaten to a jelly. Slyder Downe- 
hylle earned the right and title to be known as a spirited 
youth, and so he was, generally. But, by dint of repeti- 
tion, the blue began to disappear from this plum also — 



SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE. 47 

the peach was no longer downy. If it had not been for 
the peach-brandy, what would have become of Slyder 
Downehylle? It was not, indeed, perfect bliss — Slyder 
was subject to headache in the earlier part of the day— 
but it was as nearly "something to be happy with," as 
he had yet been enabled to discover. 

It was a hard case, view it as you will. Mr. Slyder 
Downehylle wanted to be happy — he had the greatest 
disposition to be happy. He had tried every possible ex- 
periment in that direction that either he or Spifflikens 
could suggest; but yet he was a dejected man, even 
when tipsy twice a day. He could find no delight that 
was of a substantial character — nothing to which he could 
constantly recur without fear of disappointment and dis- 
gust — nothing that would wear all the week through and 
be the same to-day, to-morrow, and the day after that. 
It was in vain that he intermingled his pleasures — took 
them in alternation — over-eat himself in the morning and 
over-drank himself in the evening, or reversed the pro- 
cess, turning the bill of fare upside down. It came all 
to the same thing in the end. There must be something 
wrong — why could not Slyder Downehylle be happy ? 
Who laboured harder to boil down common-place and to 
extract from it the essence of felicity — to concentrate the 
soup of life, and to elicit essentials from their insipid 
dilution ? 

A man laughed in the play-house — laughed several 
times. What right had he to laugh in that side-shaking 
manner? Slyder Downehylle could not laugh — he saw 
no particular joke that required it ; but the man laughed 
again, and when Slyder requested him not to make a fool 
of himself, the man pulled Slyder's nose. Hope de- 
ferred engenders fierceness. Slyder quarrelled with the 
man about making so free with another person's nose, as 
if it were a bell-pull or a knocker. A nose is not much. 



48 SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE. 

to be sure — many noses are not — but when a nose is con- 
stituted a point of honour, it expands to the dimensions 
of a geographical promontory — it is peninsular — it is an 
independent territory, over which no one can be allowed to 
march, much less to make settlements upon it. Slyder 
Downehylle resolved to stand by his nose, and so he 
stood up to it, and a duel was the consequence — a duel, 
according to the barbarian custom of modern times, which 
was fought before breakfast. Who can be surprised that 
there is so much bad shootinsf extant on these interestins: 
occasions ? A gendeman, no matter how much of a gen- 
tleman he may be in proper hours, cannot reasonably be 
expected to be altogether a gentleman — altogether him- 
self — at such an uncivilized time of day. A man may 
be valiant enough after nine o'clock — when he has had 
his coffee and muffins — he may be able to face a battery 
in the forenoon, and ready to lead a forlorn hope when he 
has dined comfortably; but to ask one to get up to be 
shot at, in the gray of the morning — in the midst of fogs 
and all sorts of chilly discomfort, his boots and his trow- 
sers draggled with dew, and himself unsustained by a 
breakfast, why the whole thing is preposterous. No man 
can be valiant unless he is warm, and, as no man can be 
warm without his breakfast, it is a demonstrated fact that 
breakfast is itself valor, and that one may be frightened 
before breakfast, without the slightest disparagement to 
his character for courage. Master Barnardine was right 
when he refused to get up early to go to the gallows. 
There is a time for all things. But Slyder Downehylle 
was not more alarmed than was natural and proper — not 
more, probably, than his antagonist. " How do they 
come on?" said the surgeon to Goliah Bluff, who acted 
as Slyder's second. The fourth shot had been inter- 
changed and no blood drawn. "As well as could be 
expected," replied Gohah ; " they are approximating — 



SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE. 49 

the seconds don't have to dodge now, and the principals 
are not so likely as they were to shoot off their own toes. 
Practice makes perfect. Gentlemen, are you ready? — 
one, two, three !" — bang! — bang! — The man had winged 
Slyder, and both were glad — the one that it was safely 
over, so far as he was concerned, and the other that the 
affair was finished and no worse, so far as he was con- 
cerned. Further approximations might have been dan- 
gerous. But the result was a downright flying in the 
face of poetical justice, owing, no doubt, to the fact that 
poetical justice wisely lies abed till the last bell rings. 
But then, as Goliah Bluff announced to the parties bel- 
ligerent, Slyder Downehylle was " satisfied," and who 
else had a right to complain ? His nose was the feature 
most interested, and it said nothing, " as nobody knows 
on" — for it was now a nose which, when regarded in its 
metaphysical and honourable aspect, notwithstanding its 
rubid tints, had not a stain upon its escutcheon. The 
bullet in its master's shoulder had been soapsuds to its 
reputation, and the duel had been brickdust to the lustre 
of its glory. Slyder Downehylle's nose actually "shone 
again," brighter than ever. His arm, indeed, was in a 
sling — the same arm that had conveyed so many slings 
into him, to support him, comfort him, and keep him up ; 
but his nose was self-sustained ; it had been proved to be 
a feature not to be handled with impunity. But what are 
noses, after all — what are noses in the abstract — noses in- 
dividually considered? Slyder, in the end, did not care 
much who pulled his nose, so they did it gently. 

He was engaged in solving a great moral problem. 
He left the longitude and the squaring of the circle to 
intellects of an inferior order. It was for him to deter- 
mine whether it was possible to live upon the principal 
of one's health and capacities for enjoyment, without 
being r jstricted to such beggarly returns as the mere in- 
148 



50 SLYDER DOWTfEHYLLE. 

terest thereof. As for content — the "being hap^y with 
one's self," as Uncle John expressed it — this was a very 
flat sort of happiness in Slyder Downehylle's estimation, 
if, indeed, he ever placed it in that category at all. It 
was by no means strong enough for the purpose. Happy 
upon water! "I'll trouble you for that pale brandy," 
said Slyder Downehylle. He desired that his existence 
should be one vast bowl of champagne punch — an 
everlasting mince-pie — terrapins and turtle soup — gla- 
ciers of ice-cream and cataracts of cognac, sunned by 
frolic and fanned by the breeze of excitement, — a "per- 
petual spree." There were to be no shady sides of 
the way in his resplendent world. — How many practical 
philosophers have failed in the same pursuit! Is the 
aurum potabile never to be discovered .'* Are we always 
to come down to the plain reality, at last ? Downehylle 
could not endure the thought. "More cayenne, if you 
please." 

"Have you ever tried faro?" whispered Spifflikens; 
"there's considerable fun at faro, when you are up 
to it." 

Spifflikens passed the bottle. Slyder Downehylle had 
never tried faro, but he did try it, and thought that he 
rather liked it. In short, it improved upon acquaintance. 
At length, he had reached the ultima Thule. The " some- 
thing to be happy with" had, to all appearance, been 
found. Redheiffer was but a goose. He knew not 
where to look for the " perpetual motion" — the everlast 
ing jog to the flagging spirit. But the top of our speed 
brings the end of the race. He who moves most rapidly, 
is the soonest at the close of his career. Faro is fickle, 
and Slyder Downehylle, in his zeal to pile enjoyment 
upon enjoyment — to be happy, if possible, with several 
things at a time — had unluckily a habit of not taking 
even his faro " plain;" he needed syrup also in that effer 



SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE. 51 

vescmg draught, and, as his head became warm, the 
« cool" amounts in his pockets melted away. 

Slyder Downehylle was a cashless man — his researches 
after felicity had not only proved unsuccessful, but had 
left him without the means of future progression. He 
was bemired, half-way — swamped, as it were, in sight 
of port. Even Spifflikens cut him dead. The tailors 
desired no more of his custom — his apartments at the 
hotel were wanted. The " credit system" was out of 
fashion. Financiering had been clipped in its wings. 
How doleful looks the candle when capped with an ex- 
tinguisher ! — The wounded squirrel drops from limb to 
limb. The world has many wounded squirrels, besides 
those that crack nuts to earn a living. Just such a 
squirrel was Slyder Downehylle, compelled, before he 
reached the top of his aspiring hopes, to abandon every 
step that he had so toilfully surmounted. 

How he now obtained any thing to eat, is not exactly 
known. His mode of obtaining something to drink, is, 
if not original, certainly ingenious. He never goes to the 
pump, having no taste for hydraulics. Nor does he find 
water with a hazel twig. He has a more effective " twig'^ 
than that. He lounges in bar-rooms, and, as his old 
acquaintances, searchers after happiness not yet brought 
up with a "round turn," go there to drink — a dry 
bar is a sad impediment to navigation — it is astonish- 
ing how very solicitous he becomes in reference to their 
health. 

" How do you do, Mr. Jones? I've not had the plea- 
sure of seeing you for a long time. How have you 
been?" 

"Pretty well, Downehylle, pretty well — but excuse 
me — Bibo and I are going to try son ething." 

" Why, ah — thank you — I don't care much if I do join. 



52 SLYDER DOWNEHYLLE. 

The pale brandy — yes — that will answer," would be Sly- 
der Downehylle's response under such circumstances, 
from which it is apparent that misfortune had somewhat 
impaired his sense of hearing. 



Slyder Downehylle is supposed to be yet about town, 
looking earnestly for his undiscovered happiness. The 
last time he was seen by credible witnesses, they noted 
him busily employed in playing "All Fours," in front of 
John Gin's hostelry — a game probably selected as em- 
blematic of his now creeping condition. He lounges no 
more in fashionable resorts. Champagne punch is a 
mere reminiscence. His Havanas are converted into 
" long nines," and his bibulations are at two cents a glass, 
making up in piperine pungency what they lack in deli- 
cacy of flavour. He is sadly emaciated, and, in all re- 
spects, considerably the worse for wear, while a hollow 
cough indicates that his physical capabilities have proved 
inadequate to the requirements of his method of employ- 
ing Hfe, and are fast dropping to pieces. Slyder Downe- 
hylle is consequently more melancholy than ever. He is 
troubled with doubts. Perhaps he may have proceeded 
upon an error — perhaps the principle, the high pressure 
principle, of his action was not the right one. It may be 
that excitement is not happiness — that our pleasures are 
fleeting in proportion to their intensity — that, indeed, if 
"life be a feast," the amount of satisfaction to be derived 
from it is rather diminished than increased by swallow- 
ing the viands hastily, and by having a free recourse to 
condiments, and that a physical economy is as wise and 
as necessary to well-being as economy of any other kind. 
He is almost led to suppose that his "something to be 
happy with" is a fallacy; he nev^er could hold it within 




"The last time he was seen by credible witnesses, they noted him busily em- 
ployed in playing 'All Fours,' in front of John Gin's hostelry— a game probably 
selected as emblematic of his now creeping condition." — Book III, page 52. 



SLYDER DO^VNEHYLI.E. 53 

his grasp, and he inclines to the belief that a man proba- 
bly does well to have a home in himself, that he may not 
always be compelled to run abroad for recreation, or to 
appeal to his senses to give vivacity to the hour. If it 
were his luck to begin again, perhaps he might try the 
tack thus indicated. But that hollow cough! — Our ex- 
periences oft reach their climax too late ; yet others may 
learn from the example of Slyder Downehv'iC. 



HIGHDAYS AND HOLIDAYS. 

A CHRISTMAS FANCY, AND A NEW-YEAR's THOUGHT. 

Undoubtedly — we never meant to deny it — anniver- 
saries are pleasant enough, in their way. It is true, per- 
haps, that if our wishes could have an effect in the mat- 
ter, we might rather desire them not to come quite so 
rapidly as they do of late, thus huddling on each other as 
if the space between had undergone abridgment, and as 
if years, like ourselves, as they grow older, are liable to 
shrinkage. There is no audible call for despatch in this 
particular, and thus to mount the months upon a loco- 
motive, to sweep by in such undignified haste that they 
are gone almost before we are able to avail ourselves of 
their services, — which every one must have observed to 
be peculiarly the case since steam became the fashion and 
hurry the order of the day, — is annoying to people of 
leisurely habits, who like to deliberate before they act, 
and to consider consequences in advance of the deed , 
instead of afterwards, according to modern usages. To 
our fancy, the slow year — the year in hoop, powder and 
buckles — in full decorum and expansion — was a much 
more respectable personage than such years as we have 
now ; years which h^ve changed the minuet measure of 
their ancestors for a hop, step and jump, not to be set 
down as otherwise than an abomination. We hate to be 
jostled and pushed from our propriety, and though it is 
admitted to be true that " here to-day and gone to-mor- 
row" is symbolical of human existence, this incessant 
bustle of preparation causes an absorption of the day in 
the morrow. There is no " to-day" — scarcely the frag- 
ment of an afternoon ; nothing but beginnings and end- 
ings, without an intervening pause for thought. 
54 



HIGHDAYS AND HOLIDAYS. 55 

Still, however, as you say— as all the world says— 
these anniversaries are pleasant things ; not emphatically 
pleasant, but pleasant, with no particular stress upon the 
word. They will intrude into our company, you know, 
without ceremonious observances. It is not easy to shut 
the door in the face of old time, nor is it of avail to reply 
« not at home," to the New Year ; and, in emergencies 
of this kind, when there is no help, we cannot probably 
do better than to insist upon it, downright— to ourselves 
and to other people of less importance, that the inevitable 
visitant is under our patronage, and has agreeable points 
about him. Marvels are to be accomplished in regard 
to such convictions, by dint of perseverance. Resolve 
upon it that you shall think so, and you will think so,— 
sooner or later. Only want to think so, and the object is 
more than half achieved. We are very docile to our- 
selves, and in an internal dispute, inclination is so fertile 
in argument that it becomes " useless to talk." The fair 
lady at last confessed that John Wilkes had a squint— the 
aberration from the true Une w^as too evident to be 
denied— but then, she had prevailed on herself to admire 
even his defects, and she qualified her unwiUing admis- 
sion by declaring that, to her view, " Mr. Wilkes did not 
squint more than a gentleman should." And so, these 
anniversaries are pleasant things. There is a little of a 
sinister expression in their aspect, no doubt— father Sa- 
turn is charged with a disposition to devour his children— 
but we will set it down as a peculiarity which is rather at- 
tractive than otherwise— romantic interest, such as that 
which envelopes gendemen of the " suspicious look," who 
combine the bully and the beau in so just an equipoise, 
that they command success and enforce admiration. 

No one pretends to assert, at least, that it is not a 
source of pleasure to meet with friends, on a festive occa- 
sion—provided always that we have friends and possess 
30 



56 HIGHDAYS AND HOLIDAYS. 

a fondness for festivities. To give and to receive tokens 
of love and amity, affords refreshment to the spirit. The 
heart is cheered by smiling faces and the voice of joy, 
and it is not to be disputed that dining well is a circum- 
stance by no means repugnant to the ordinary constitution 
of human nature — not repugnant at the moment, though 
sometimes apt to entail remorseful reminiscences. There 
is a period also, in our terrestrial career, when the dance 
comes not amiss, even if we should chance to feel a little 
dull upon it, when the next day's sun peeps in at us ; and, 
mdeed, it may be conceded that all the incidents of the 
holiday season and anniversary return — very nearly all — 
are decidedly pleasant — bright to anticipate, happy in 
fruition, and well enough in the retrospect. Let us, then, 
look gayly on the approach of the " happy New Year," 
w^hen we rejoice by tradition, and take up the echo of 
old time, that it may reverberate to posterity. Our mer- 
ry-makings now, are the connecting link between the past 
and the future. 

We are told, moreover, that it is not the part of true 
wisdom to be strict in the analysis of our pleasures, and 
that he is more of a simpleton than a philosopher, who 
stops in the midst of his mirth to ascertain, by critical in- 
quiry, whether, after all, there be any thing to laugh at. 
And, in fact, if it is our purpose to extract from life as 
many agreeable sensations as it is capable of affording, 
we must content ourselves with being entertained, and 
not insist too strenuously that the cause shall be in strict 
proportion to the effect. Nor can it be regarded as alto- 
gether a matter of sagacity to, pass much time in endea- 
vouring to discover what we have to be unhappy about 
to-day. There are annoyances enough, of the unavoidable 
and intrusive sort — vexations which will, of their own 
impulse, be in attendance, independent of a call — with- 
out a recourse to the muster-roll of grievance, to select a 



HIGHDAYS AND HOLIDAYS. 57 

pet sorrow as our special companion. And to search for 
a discomfort, merely to bring it in action as a means of 
self-disturbance, may be courageous, but it is, for the 
most part, an unprofitable exhibition of valour. There is 
abundant room for the exercise of the passive virtues, 
without this continued practice upon our fortitude. — 
Nevertheless, there are occasions when fevers of this pe- 
culiar type have their advantages ; and when, from un- 
known causes, be they moral or physical, a diffused 
irascibihty pervades the individual — when we go to rest 
in gloom and arise in sulkiness — it is a wholesome ope- 
ration that the disorder should be localized, and that some 
particular point should be presented, no matter what, on 
which the pent-up fury may have vent. For example, 
if a gentleman, in the morning, should chance to be over- 
heard in addressing harsh and uncivil words to his slip 
pers, and in speaking with unkindness and disrespect to 
his boots, those with whom he is likely to come in con- 
tact at subsequent hours, have reason to rejoice that the 
superfluous electricity with which he was troubled, has 
wreaked itself upon inanimate objects. A living creature 
has, in all likelihood, had a fortunate escape. The slip- 
per anticipates a contention — a boot may have frustrated 
a duel, and deprived surgery of a subject. Should my 
lady apostrophize the unlucky broom, which careless 
hands have left upon the stair, or should she, in sparkling 
monologue, comment on other oversights in housewifery, 
which meet her early eye, do not repine at wasted energy, 
or at eloquence scattered to the unheeding air. It is a 
mercy, though you think it not, and power remains for 
all needful purposes. Occurrences of this description are, 
however, but exceptions to the comprehensive rule, and 
are not to be elevated to the station of a general example. 
They are not to be pleaded, certainly, as a justification of 



58 HIGHDAYS AND HOLIDAYS. 

undiscriminating cynicism, or as palliating the propensity 
to seek for faults and to spy out defects. 

But yet, as concerns holidays in general — as involves 
the merits of New Year's days and birth-days in particu- 
lar — we are little disposed to be captious and hypercriti- 
cal — but still it must be acknowledged, with all due 
deference to sounder judgment and more enlarged expe- 
rience, that when they are regarded apart from their 
fineries, and the sophistication is dispensed with — when 
they lay aside hat, cloak and feathers — the comehness, as 
in other instances not lying under present notice, mea- 
surably disappears, and as they sit down with us quietly 
by the fireside, it would be difficult perhaps conscien- 
tiously to assert, that the sensation is that of unmixed 
delight, or that the satisfaction would have been much 
less had their coming been delayed somewhat — not from 
a dearth of hospitality — not that we are altogether averse 
to this stranger presence ; but from a vague impression 
that we are not fully prepared for such distinguished com- 
pany, and would like to be a little more economical in 
joys of this description — not quite so many birth-days, 
and a thought less, if we may so express it, of the New 
Yeaf. Let children be impatient — we can wait well 
enough ; and though it be an axiom that time is money, 
"ve care not thus to exercise our arithmetic in its compu- 
tation — Uke Hamlet, we are " ill at these numbers." — ■ 
The observant eye may have noted, too, that with its in- 
crease of chronological wealth, the world grows miserly 
in the accumulation of its anniversary amounts — that it 
hides them, as it were, in unnoticed crannies and disre- 
garded chinks, and that, as the sum grows larger, it 
shrinks from every allusion to its doubtful riches, as if 
there were robbers here, to " steal our years away." 
Nor can it have escaped intelligent remark, that there are 
those among us — respectable people, not incompetent to 



HIGHDAYS AND HOLIDAYS. 59 

a gig, if, indeed, they may not justly aspire to a pair of 
horses— persons not to be suspected, under ordinary cir- 
curastances, of a bias towards larceny, who do not scruple 
to plunder themselves oi their historical position, and who, 
since it would be a work beyond their powers to suppress 
the First of January outright, nathless do contrive to wmk 
strangely when the day that gave them birth rolls by, as 
if they had forgotten its distinctive features, and felt no 
gratitude for the favour it conferred, in the far distant 

Since such facts are facts, not to be controverted, how 
happens it that at these moments, a really reluctant peo- 
ple are called upon to rejoice, in assumed jolUty and 
forced smiles ? Is it done to drive away care, or is it, 
after all, a joke— an invocation to merriment and con- 
vivialities—we address the question to the common sense 
of everybody— is it a joke— we mean, a very good joke— 
a joke to make us frisk, and give us a spasmodic twmge 
in the side— to peep into the mirror, and to count upon 
the cheek and brow, the additional flourishes of Time's 
villanously crampt penmanship ? We speak not in re- 
gard to connoisseurship or dilletanteism ; but are you, in 
your heart, fond of the study of these ungraceful hiero- 
glyphics ? Would you not prefer engrossments on other 
parchment ? A majestic brow is admirable in a statue,— 
a fine phrenology may be a letter of recommendation ; but 
it is yet to be made manifest that musings upon a wig, 
or meditations about the approaching necessity for a 
" scratch," ever provoked a smile in him who was com- 
pelled to entertain them. Lear thought it flattery— but 
he was singular in his opinion— to be told that his beard 
was white ; and it would perhaps move surprise, if there 
were an issue of invitations to celebrate the arrival of 
gray hairs. There are methods to create hunger when 
the appetite is disposed to sleep ; but why it should ren- 



60 HIGHDAYS AND HOLIDAYS. 

tier us eager for comfits and confections, because another 
round has been completed — because, though the jubilant 
be a year older, he is scarce a minute wiser — nearer the 
end of his career, yet not a penny richer — as full of sin 
and folly as before, but with much less time for repent- 
ance and amendment, — would puzzle Abernethy himself 
to explain. — There is, besides, a sad waste of gunpowder, 
and the loud rattle of fire-arms, hereabouts, and it may be 
appropriate to let off a blunderbuss as the old year ex- 
pires. There are instances, no doubt, in which that 
weapon would be characteristic. 

Look ye, too, where comes the forgotten tailor, the 
neglected hatter, the unsought shoemaker, with a long 
line of others who have administered to your conve- 
nience — see them approach, not perhaps having " fire in 
each eye," but certainly with " paper in each hand," to 
bring you to a settlement — a winding up of old affairs, 
preliminary to a new onset. Do you find that funny, 
friend — heedless, thoughtless, perhaps cashless, friend ? — 
Now, you perceive the moral of the matter — now, you 
obtain a ghmpse of the special mission of this holiday ; 
and the pecuniary settlement to which the time is subject, 
is but a type of the more impressive settlement which the 
recurrence of the day should impose upon us. If that be 
well performed, then, indeed, have we reason to rejoice. 

It has struck you often, in moments of calmness and 
reflection — after disappointments and in grief — in those 
minutes when the flush of enjoyment had faded to a 
sombre hue, and self-estimation had proportionably sub- 
sided — that there were changes in your own character and 
disposition which might be made to advantage. It would 
have been resented, if another had said as much ; for you 
then thought, and still think, it may be mistakenly, that 
these defects are only apparent in full to their owner. 
Still, however, the amelioration was resolved upon. At 




"Look ye, too, where comes the forgotten tailor, '^^he neglected hatter, the 
unsought shoemaker, with a long line of otliers who have administered to 
your convenience." — Book III, page 60. 



HIGHDAYS AND AOLIDAYS. 61 

first, it was to begin " now." Then came cares and 
pleasures; a little postponement was granted, and this 
great work, if we are not in error, Ues in the dusty 
corners of your determination, quite unfinished. Could 
you not take it up to-day ? — A more fitting time is not 
likely to present itself. 

Somebody has frequently promised— but, after the 
cautious fashion of Sir Giles Overreach, " we name no 
parties" — has promised very distinctly to himself— and 
there is no one with whom it would be more to his ad- 
vantage to keep faith— that the New Year shall find him, 
in many respects, a new man. Do you know such a 
person — a friend, a brother, a lover or a husband, who 
has done this, in the view of evil habit, of indolence, of 
ill temper, of any of the thousands of temptations and of 
faults which beset the human family ? Strengthen his 
will ; give encouragement to his weakness. He may 
chance to need it. 

And then, it may not be too much to assume that, perfect 
as we are, there is no want of certain pestilent imps, who 
find places in our train, and are ever on the alert for mis- 
chief, — saucy companions, of whom we would gladly be 
rid, but that they take us by surprise, and await not the 
chastisements of our regret — little petulances, which at 
times prompt us to wound those who love us best — small 
discontents, which seek expression in embittered words 
unrecognised envies, which lacerate the heart and dis- 
turb repose, leading to uncharitable thoughts, and un- 
kindly judgments— petty jealousies, have we not, render- 
ing us unreasonable, querulous, and ill at ease ? Such 
restless spirits swarm the air, causing endless complica- 
tions of annoyance. Let them, this day, be summoned 
to your footstool, to meet discharge, and, above all things, 
let us impress it on your mind to scan their faces closely. 
They are adroit at a disguise, and often elude the most 



62 HIGHDAYS AND HOLIDAYS. 

careful watch ; so that we know them not but in their 
effects, and by the sorrows they are apt to leave be- 
hind. 

If such be our policy, as the substratum of our merri- 
ment, and the undercurrent to our mirth, and if we can 
find nerve enough to accomplish but a part of what is 
deemed desirable, — if each New Year is thus assured of 
meeting with us so much wiser, and therefore happier — 
for wisdom is but happiness, after all, — than any of its 
predecessors, we shall " better brook the loss of brittle 
youth," and meet the onward tide of time with buoyant 
hearts and an unshrinking hope — satisfied with the pre- 
sent, and with no terrors for the future. 



THE NEWS-BOY. 

Arms have had their day. The age of steel is past. 
The thunders of Mont St. Jean formed the grand finale 
to the raelo-drama of military exploit, and the curtain fell, 
never to rise again, upon the last scene of martial great- 
ness, when the laurelled warriors of France cast aside the 
baton of command to have recourse to their spurs. Bel- 
lona then went to boarding-school, and learned to comb 
her refractory locks into the pliant graces of the toilet, 
while Mars obtained a situation in a counting-house, and 
seated upon a three-legged stool, still nibs his pen to gain 
a livelihood. Romance expired at Waterloo. Chivalry 
expended itself when Ney was foiled ; and the Belgian 
peasant unconsciously depicts the moral of the fall of 
the empire when he boils potatoes in the helmet of the 
knight, and cooks his mutton in a breastplate of the 
" Guard." The world is tired of slaughter — the poetry 
of the shambles is exhausted. We live as long as we 
can now, and find existence none the worse for having a 
full supply of arms and legs. A body like a cullender is 
not essential to reputation, and death has become so un- 
popular that it is only by special favour that ambition can 
get itself hanged. 

New elements produce new combinations. When the 
musket rusts in a garret, and glory puzzles over the mul- 
tipUcation table and retails brown sugar, the restless im- 
pulses of humanity seek excitements before unknown. 
Strategy exhibits itself in the marts of trade. Napoleons 
are financiers. The sun of Austerlitz bursts through the 
clouds which overhang the stock exchange. Bulls and 
Dears constitute the contending hosts of modern times, 

63 



64 THE NEWS-BOY. 

and there is no analogy to the "maraud," unless we find 
it in embezzlement and defalcation. We are "smart" 
now — exceeding smart, and pugnacity is thrown to the 
dogs. Learning, too, leaves its solidity in the cloister, 
and, no longer frighted by trumpets and sulphurous va- 
pors, spreads itself thinly abroad. Being in haste, the 
world reads as it runs, so that heavy books, like heavy 
artillery, remain in the arsenals. Man, commercial man, 
speculating man, financial man — man, heedless of gory 
greatness, but eager for cash, must know all that is in 
agitation. Having ceased to kill his neighbour, he is 
anxious to ascertain what his neighbour is about, that he 
may turn him and his doings to profitable account ; and 
hence, in the place of those gaudy banners which used to 
flout the sky, instead of the oriflamme of nations, which 
once rallied their battalia, we gather round the newspa- 
per, not with sword, and shield, and casque, but with ink- 
stained jacket and with pen in ear. Our clarion now, 
more potent than the Fontarabian horn, is the shrill voice 
of the new^s-boy, that modern Minerva, who leaped full 
blown from the o'erfraught head of journalism ; and, as the 
news-boy is in some respects the type of the time — an in- 
carnation of the spirit of the day, — a few words devoted 
to his consideration may not be deemed amiss. 

As the true Corinthian metal was formed from the 
meltings of the devoted city, thus the news-boy is the 
pioduct of the exigencies of the era. The requirements 
of the age always bring forth that which is wanted. The 
dragon teeth of tyranny have often caused the earth to 
crop with armed men, and the nineteenth century, thirst- 
ing for information and excitement, finds its Ganymede 
in the news-boy. He is its walking idea, its symbol, its 
personification. Humanity, in its new shape, is yet young 
and full of undefined energies, and so is he. The first 
generation of his race not having outgrown their business. 



THE NEWS-BOY. 



65 



the important part which youth thus trained, is destined 
to play in human affairs, is as yet too imperfectly de- 
veloped even for the meditations of the most speculative 
philosopher that ever extracted glowing sunbeams from 
the refreshing cucumber ; but, as nature does nothing m 
vain, it is fair to infer that the news-boy is destined, 
in one way or another, to fix the period which gave him 
birth, in the niche of history. Too many powerful ele- 
ments combine in him not to be productive of grand re- 
sults. What is the news-boy— what is necessary to his 
original constitution— what faculties are involved, cher- 
ished, strengthened and made, as it were, the prepon- 
derating forces of his character, by the calUng to which 
he is devoted ? Survey the news-boy— extract him from 
the buzzing crowd and place him on a pedestal, while 
you analyze his character in its psychological and physi- 
cal details, estimating, at the same time, the past and 
future operation of circumstances in educating him for 
mature effort in the contentions of men. Anatomize him, 
and " see what breeds about his heart." A rough study, 
truly— soiled garments and patches. The youth is not 
precisely fitted for presentation in the drawing-room, evi- 
dent though it be that his self-possession would not desert 
him in the presence of an empress. Valets and body 
servants do not trouble themselves about him. Father 
and mother, brother and sister, if such there be, have 
enough to do in struggling for their own existence, with- 
out attending to the details of his costume, and many a 
repair is the result of his own handiwork in hours stolen 
from needful rest. That battered hat, grown foxy by ex- 
posure, is picturesque in its proportions, not so much 
from careless usage as from hard service, and those ox- 
hide boots, embrowned and cracked, have shamed the 
feats of plank-walking pedestrians. Sooth to say, our 
hero is somewhat uncouth in his externals. That fair 
149 



66 THE NEWS-BOY. 

damsel there would scarcely covet him for a parlour pet. 
He would not shine amid carpet knights, nor would Tita- 
nia weary Oberon with prayers to have him for her 
henchman. The news-boy would not weep either, if he 
were to know that perfumed pride and silken delicacy 
thus curl the nose at him ; for he would be lost and wea- 
ried in such preferment. Observe his frame, so light, 
yet so strong; — so pliant, wiry and enduring. No 
"debile wretch" enters the ranks of these juvenile Prae- 
torians ; or, if he should venture on services so far beyond 
his capacity, exhaustion soon removes him. Glance at 
the expression of that weather-beaten face, prematurely 
channelled into line and hardened into muscle. Care, 
courage and resolution are in every curve of those com- 
pacted lips. The soft roundness of childhood has de- 
parted long since. That mouth knows more of the strong 
word, the keen retort, the well-weighed phrases of the 
bargainer, of cunning solicitation, and of the fierce 
wrangle, than of the endearing kisses of affection. It 
brings no memory of rosebuds. It is no poetic feature 
for romance to dwell upon, but a mouth of plain reality — 
of confirmed utilitarianism. It wreathes itself more 
readily into the mould of worldly intrepidity, than into the 
gentle dimples of early life. It is, in the news-boy, as in 
all mankind beside, a key to the individual mysteries of 
our nature. The impulses, the ruling trait, are here de- 
veloped, and the news-boy offers no exception to the rule. 
The glance of his eye is as cold, but as bright, as the 
beammg sun of a frosty morning, which sparkles on the 
ice, but melts it not. Still, though self-interest and sordid 
calculation dwell in its depths, we find a laughing devil 
there, which feasts on satire and sports like the chevaliers 
of old, h Voidrance. Its jokes bite shrewdly, and the 
lance of its wit displays the point "unbated," though not 
" envenomed." When the news-boy turns awhile from 



THE NEWS-BOY. 67 

business to the pleasures of companionship, he asks no 
quiet recreation. His raillery and his pleasant tricks 
both deal in heavy blows and rude interchanges. Your 
nice, nervous sensibility finds no quarter from one whose 
very existence in all its phases is roughness. Should he 
hereafter learn to woo, it will be "as the lion wooes his 
bride." 

Such is the physique of the news-boy, and it contains 
many of the constituent points of greatness. Tossed early 
into the world, the impediments which cause other men 
to fail, are soon surmounted in his path. He has no 
kindly arm to lean upon, and, through mistaken tender- 
ness, to make his steps unsteady. He is his own staff — 
his own protector. Of diffidence, he never heard the 
name — he does not know its nature. Imaginary barriers 
cannot interpose between him and his object ; for he re- 
cognises none as worthier than he, and self-distrust plays 
no fantastic tricks to defeat the consummation of what he 
may resolve. He lives in deeds, and not in dreamy 
speculation — he is an actor, not a looker on, and practice 
has given him that estimate of his own powers which 
rarely falls below the mark, and which, best of all, sur- 
rounds disappointment with no unreal terrors. When he 
falls, he falls but to rise again with renewed strength, like 
the fabled Antseus. And while continued collision with 
the world thus hardens his intellectual being, his muscu- 
lar energies, which sustain the spirit, receive a training 
of proportionate severity. He has no tender years. Let 
wealthy youth be housed in luxury, and guarded from the 
storm. Soft couches and protracted slumbers do not 
enervate the news-boy. Compared to him, the sun itself 
is a sluggard. No morning ray finds him in bed ; the 
moon and stars witness his uprisings, and he travels forth 
in darkness to commence his daily toil. Let the rain fall 
in torrents — the hghtning flash — the thunders roar, the 



68 THE NEWS-BOY. 

news-boy laughs at the elemental strife. Heat and cold 
are alike indifferent to one who has such duties to per- 
form. It is on him that society waits for its mental ali- 
ment, and can he falter — can he shrink before winds and 
showers, before frosts and heats, who, more truly than 
any human being, is the " schoolmaster abroad ?" No — 
others may crouch around the fire, or shrink beneath their 
blankets, at the sound of winter's threatening blasts ; but 
the news-boy springs up, whistling cheerily, to encounter 
any hardship that may oppose him. 

Now, it is contended that whole masses and classes of 
youth, thus educated, thus trained — who live, as it were, 
by their wits — by their boldness, their address, their per- 
severance — whose faculties are always literally at the 
grindstone — who daily practise endurance, fortitude, self- 
restraint, abstinence, and many other virtues ; who are 
pre-eminently frugal and industrious ; who learn to un- 
derstand men and boys, dandies and dandizettes, and are 
schooled to emulation and competition — must of necessity 
produce something — not a little of roguery, mayhap, 
which is often the fungous growth, the untrimmed shoot, 
of a certain grade of cleverness. But we look for more 
than this — if genius is ever latent, the life of the news- 
boy must bring it forth. The blows which fall on him, 
would elicit sparks from the flint. In the school which 
boasts of such a pupil, society is the book, adversity the 
teacher, and harsh circumstance plays the part of rod 
and ferula. He is scourged into wisdom, almost before 
others can walk alone. 

In what peculiar way, Tom Tibbs, \vhose admirable 
portrait graces our present number, is likely to distinguish 
himself, remains to be seen. His faculties are expansive 
— roaming like summer bees. The moment of concentra- 
tion, when genius, rallying upon its focus, burns its way 
through all impediments, has not yet come to him. But 




TOM TiBBs — THE NEWS-BOY. — Book III, page 63. 



THE NEWS-BOY. 69 

Tibbs is one of whom expectation may be entertained. 
In fact, he has long been spoken of as a " hopeful youth," 
by many of those who know him ; and though the phrase 
may often be applied derisively, as a sort of lucus a non 
lacendo, still this is but the vulgar error, which cannot 
comprehend the kittenhood of lionism — the unappreciated 
infancy of power. No one ever achieved distinction who 
did not begin by being a nuisance, just as greatness in a 
single walk, of necessity constitutes a bore ; and it may 
be so with Tibbs. He has already learned the one great 
lesson of success. He looks upon the community as a 
collective trout — a universal fish, which must nibble at 
his bait, lie in his basket, and fill his frying-pan. On this 
maxim, heroes have overrun the world. It has been the 
foundation, not only of fortunes, but of empires. Why 
should it not elevate Tibbs ? Especially as his soul has 
not been whittled down to a single point, by the process 
of acquiring the knowledge to which we refer. Tibbs 
has the afTections, the sympathies, the twining tendrils of 
the heart, in as great perfection as can be expected in 
one who has been taught to look upon downright fact as 
the great purpose of existence. The pennies, however, 
do not engross him utterly; but when he is in pursuit of 
the pennies, that pursuit is made paramount. He takes 
his business as Falstaflfdid his sack, "simple, of itself;'' 
and his pleasures are imbibed "neat," never spoiling 
both by an infusion and admixture of either. That soldier 
is a poor sentinel who nods upon his post, and would 
both watch and wink upon a tour of duty. The wink- 
ings of Tibbs are wisely condensed into a continuous 
slumber ; and when he watches, it is generally found that 
his eyes are quite as widely open as the eyes of other 
people. 

Tom Tibbs had a father, a necessity from which it is 
believed the greatest are not exempt, and in Tom's case, 



70 THE NEWS-BOY. 

as indeed in many others, it was a hard necessity, from 
which it would have pleased him to be excused. Tom's 
father was a disciplinarian — that is, he compounded for 
his own dehnquencies by a compensatory severity upon 
the delinquencies of others. When he had made a fool 
of himself abroad, he balanced the account and atoned 
for the folly, by chastising Tom at home, and thus went 
to bed with a cleared conscience and a weary arm. When 
he had spent more money upon a recreation than precisely 
suited his circumstances, the family were put upon short 
commons, and Tom's contingent of shoes and jackets, as 
well as those of his brothers and sisters — for he is not 
the only scion of Tibbsism — was economically retrenched. 
The elder Tibbs piqued himself much upon his paternal 
kindness in teaching prudence to his offspring. " You'll 
bless me for it," said he, with tears in his eyes, as he 
prepared to hammer them all round, after having been 
fined for wheeling his barrow upon the pavement, 
"you'll bless me for it the longest day you have to 
live." The elder Tibbs was patriarchal — he made the 
law as the necessity arose, carrying it into effect him- 
self, and its adaptation to circumstances was wonderful. 
Any trouble in solving the equity of the case was instantly 
obviated by flogging Tom, and then old Tibbs would 
exclaim, "My conscience is easy — I do my best towards 
these naughty children — my duty is fulfilled — if they 
come to bad ends, they can't blame me for it. I have 
spared no pains to bring 'em up properly," and he had 
not been sparing, so far as the strap was concerned. 

Mrs. Tibbs was a tender-hearted woman, who did not 
exactly understand parental duties as they were received 
by her husband ; yet, being somewhat overcrowed by the 
commanding spirit of her mate, she sometimes almost 
began to think that Tom must indeed be rather a bad boy 
lo require the neat's leather so often. But Mrs. Tibb^ 

I 



THE NEWS-BOY. 71 

loved her children, and did her best to console them, 
thus preserving a verdant spot in Tom's otherwise arid 
heart ; for, as his cuticle was hardened, his spirit also grew 
callous. 

The pressure of the times, however, at last compelled 
the Tibbs family to migrate westward ; and the father, 
when two days out from the city, having become warm 
with his own eloquence upon the difficulties of making a 
living, called Tom to his side and diverged into a per- 
sonal episode and an individual apostrophe : 

"It's so hard now to get along in the world, that I 
shouldn't wonder, if any thing happened to me, if these 
children were to starve. Tom, Tom, how often have I 
told you that you'd never come to good ! Tom, Tom ! 
you'll break my heart ! Where's that strap ? I don't 
want to do it, but I must !" 

Tom, however, could not be prevailed upon to «« stay 
to supper," and escaped, retracing his steps to the city, 
and dissolving all connection with the strap. He thought 
that he had received quite as much^ " bringing up," in 
that respect, as was necessary. 

Tom felt his destiny strong within him. He threw 
himself into the bosom of the news-boys, and through 
their kindness, for they are a kindly race when properly 
approached, soon became one of the most distinguished 
of the corps. No one can sell more adroitly than he ; his 
perseverance is mingled with tact, and his verbal em- 
bellishments as to the peculiar interest of the number 
of the journal he has to sell, are founded on fact. He 
never announces the steamer to be in before she is 
telegraphed, nor indulges in the false pretences which 
so often derogate from the dignity of the profession. 
He estimates its importance, and proceeds upon principle. 
The traveller who trades with Tibbs, at the cars, or on 
board the steamboat, may safely buy under the ringing of 
31 f 



THE NEWS-BOY. 



the last bell, without finding too late that his pennies have 
been exchanged for newspapers stale as an addled egg, 
and freshly pumped on, to give them an appearance of 
juvenility. Nor does Tom ever avail himself of hasty de- 
partures, to be oblivious in the matter of returning change. 
He does not, under such circumstances, " as some un- 
gracious pastors do," put your quarter in one pocket and 
fumble for sixpences in the other, until the train darts 
away; nor would he, if tempted to the performance of 
this unworthy feat, add insult to injury, by holding up the 
cash when distance had made its reception impossible, or 
by assuming that burlesque expression of hypocritical 
astonishment with which some paper-venders, in a simi- 
lar catastrophe, outrage your feelings besides wronging 
your purse. As Tom often justly remarks to such of his 
colleagues as are habituated to these practices, '^ This 
'ere chiselling system won't do. Nobody likes to be 
chiselled, tffid when you have chiselled everybody, why 
then they'll get a law passed, and chisel us all to chips. A 
joke to-day is often a licking to-morrow, mind I tell you." 
Tom's philosophy was, at once, Franklinian and indis- 
putable. He felt the necessity of obviating all danger of 
a war of races. He knew that nothing but mischief was 
to be anticipated, if all the rest of the human family were 
to be "chiselled" into a hostility against the news-boys; 
for the minority always stand in the predicament of being 
presented and suppressed as a nuisance, whenever the 
stronger party think fit to exercise the power of numbers ; 
and, as a natural consequence, Tom was opposed to the 
practice of clustering about a corner and selling news- 
papers in a flock. " A sprinkling of news-boys, one or 
two in every square," thought he, "is well enough. It's 
good for trade, and makes things lively ; but to be cut- 
ting up, so fashion, all in a jam, why people go on t'other 
side of the w^ay, and retailing's done for. I vote for 



THE NEWS-BOY. 73 

scatte ration. Folks hate being obligated to fight Iheir 
way through the literary circles." 

But Tibbs, with all his good sense, has a weakness. 
There is a forte and a foible to every blade, and even 
such a blade as a news-boy cannot escape the common 
lot of humanity. Sound upon the general principle of 
not annoying others, yet, in the indulgence of his humour, 
he sometimes makes an exception. He especially dis- 
likes Mr. Sappington Sapid, a starched gentleman of the 
old school, who never reads a journal, cares nothing for 
the current of events, and entertains a perfect horror of 
the modern style of newspapers and of all concerned irx 
their distribution. In fact, he attributes much of th^ 
evils of the time to cheap journalism, and he has 
not been sparing of an expression of his views on the 
subject, whenever the opportunity was afforded. On 
some one of these occasions, it was his luck to wound 
the feelings of Thomas Tibbs, and Tibbs accordingly 
marked him for a sufferer. 

Incessantly was Mr. Sappington Sapid assailed. Not a 
news-boy passed his door without ringing the bell to ascer- 
tain whether a paper was not required — he never walked 
the streets without perpetual and ridiculous solicitation!.!. 
When he appeared, all customers were left for his specit*! 
annoyance, and, in consequence of failing in the attaint 
one day, when he directed an indignant kick at the pro- 
voking Tibbs — unpractised individuals should nevei 
essay the rapid and extemporaneous application of th(i 
foot — Mr. Sappington Sapid sat suddenly and unexpect- 
edly down in a puddle of water, in full sight of a legior 
of his tormentors, who never forgot the incident, but 
would rehearse it, to the delight of their fellows, when- 
ever the unfortunate man happened to present himself, 
and Tibbs was especially dexterous in giving the broadest 
effect to the incident. 



74 THE NEWS-BOY. 

What a vitality there is in our worst mishaps! Tt 
would be nothing, comparatively, if disaster were circum- 
scribed by its immediate consequences, and it would have 
made but little figure in Mr. Sapid's memoirs had he only 
caught cold by the operation referred to ; but when a per- 
sonal sorrow is transmuted into a general joke, it becomes, 
ipso facto, a living piece of attendant biography, a walking 
companionship, which even smiles over a man's last rest- 
ing-place. Death itself affords no refuge to the hero of a 
"ridicule." "Poor fellow!" say his dearest friends, 
" perhaps it's wrong to mention it now, but, by- the- way, 
did you ever hear how, — ha ! ha ! ho ! — how he made 
such a fool of himself at Mrs. Dunover's pic-nic ? Ho ! 
ho! ha! Poor soul ! !" 

Rob a church, or lay logs on the rail-road, and there is 
a chance that the last may be heard of it ; but if a drollery, 
no matter how sad in its essence, be created at any one's 
expense, he and it are so far married that they cling to- 
gether through life, while the jest is a " relict," to move 
post mortem mirth, autopsical grins and necrological mer- 
riment. A dear departed is much more likely to be resur- 
rectionised by a surviving joke, than by the most intrepid 
of body-snatchers, and the best of portraits is not so good 
a memento as being implicated in an anecdote which is 
sure to create laughter. Under an inkling of this truth, 
Mr. Sapid always denies that he is the person who 
" shook his foot" at the news-boys. 

But there are bounds to patience. A man is but a 
bottle before the fire of mischance, and when the heat 
becomes insupportable, he must of necessity explode, no 
matter how tightly corked by fortitude, or wired down by 
philosophy. " The grief that will not speak," is a deadly 
inward fermentation. They who survive sorrow, are those 
who " exteriorize" sorrow, and give sorrow a free channel. 
To scold is the vital principle of practical hygieine for the 



THE NEWS-BOY. 75 

ladies, and gmmbling humanity rarely needs the doctor. 
The inference therefore is, that the average of existence 
would be at a higher rate, if the admirable counter-irritant 
of round swearing were not proscribed in refined society, 
thus killing people by the suppressed perspiration of an 
indignant spirit. 

Sapid, however, was none of these. Patience might 
sit upon a monument, if she liked ; but there was nothing 
of the marble-mason in his composition, nor did he at all 
affect the " statuesque," when vexation chafed his heart. 
If preyed upon in this way, though he never indulged in 
Commodore Trunnion's expletives, nor " shotted his dis- 
course" like that worthy commander, yet he did not, by 
any means, pray in return, as Dinah had often reason to 
acknowledge, when the chamber pitcher was left vacant 
of water, or when forgetful Boots failed in the perfonn- 
ance of his resplendent office. No ! Sappington Sapid 
makes people hear of it when he is offended, justly think- 
ing it better that their ears should be annoyed, than that 
he should pine away of an unexpressed inflammation. 

It was a bright forenoon, such as elicits snakes in the 
country, and evolves the fashionable in cities, when Mr. 
Sappington Sapid walked firmly along the street, filled 
with a settled purpose. His coat was buttoned up to the 
chin, to prevent the evaporation of his stern resolve ; his 
lips were drawn together, as if to obviate all danger of 
evasion by word of mouth ; his hat had settled martially 
down almost to the bridge of his nose, while his heels 
saluted mother earth so determinedly, that his whole 
frame-w^ork jarred at the shock. If ever a man displayed 
outward symptoms of having his mind made up into the 
most compact kind of a parcel, it was Sappington Sapid, 
on this memorable occasion. No beggar would have 
dared to ask charity from him, under such an aspect. He 
was safe from being solicited to take a cab. They who 



THE NEWS-BOY. 



met him, made way instinctively. " Under him, their 
genius was rebuked ; as, it is said, Mark Antony's was 
by Cffisar;" a psychological phenomenon often manifest, 
when, by the force of an emergency, even inferior men 
are screwed up to the sublime, — just as valour's self 
brinks abashed from the angry presence of a cornered cat. 

But whither wandered Sapid? No one knew. He 
had taken breakfast without a word, and had wandered 
forth in equal silence. Counsel he sought not — sym- 
pathy he did not require. When we are girded up, of 
our own impulse, to pull the trigger of a catastrophe, ad- 
vice is felt to be an impertinence, and no spur is needed 
to prick the sides of our intent. We are a sufficiency 
unto ourselves. Legions could not make us stronger, 
and, therefore. Sapid disdained companionship or an inter- 
change of thought. He, Sapid, was enough to fill the 
canvas for the contemplated picture. He was the 
tableau, all alone, so far as his share in the incident was 
to be concerned. 

Some clue to his state of mind may be afforded, when 
it is known that he was visited by a night-mare, a jour- 
nalistic incubus, on the previous night. An immense 
Tom Tibbs sat upon his breast, and tried to feed him 
with penny papers. His head seemed to grow to the 
size of a huge type-foundery, and each of his ears roared 
like a power press. Then again, he was flattened into 
an immense sheet, and they printed him as a " Double 
Brother Jonathan," with pictorial embellishments. He 
was expanded into whole acres of reading for the people, 
and did not awake until he was folded, pasted up, and 
thrust into the mail-bag; when, protesting against the 
ignominy of being charged " at the usual rate of newspa- 
per postage," he sprang up convulsively, and found that 
his night-cap had got over his nose. 



THE NEWS-BOY. 77 

" Is this the office of the ^ National Pop-gun and Univer- 
sal Valve Trumpet?' " inquired Sapid, in sepulchral tones. 

«'Hey — what? Oh! — yes," gruffly rephed the clerk, as 
he scrutinized the applicant. 

" It is, is it ?" was the response. 

"H-umpse;" being a porcine affirmative, much in use 
in the city of brotherly love. 

" I am here to see the editor, on business of import- 
ance," slowly and solemnly articulated Sapid. 

There must have been something professionally alarm- 
ing in this announcement, if an opinion may be formed 
from the effect it produced. 

"Editor's not come down yet, is he. Spry?" inquired 
the clerk, with a cautionary wink at the paste-boy. 

"Guess he ain't more nor up yet," said Spry; "the 
mails was late, last night." 

"I'll take a seat till he does come," observed Sapid, 
gloomily. 

Spry and the clerk laid their heads together, in the 
most distant corner of the little office. 

"Has he got a stick?" whispered one. 

"No, and he isn't remarkable big, nuther." 

" Any bit of paper in his hand — does he look like State 
House and a libel suit ? It's a'most time — not had a new 
suit for a week." 

" Not much ; and, as we didn't have any scrouger in 
the « Gun' yesterday, perhaps he wants to have some- 
body tickled up himself. Send him in." 

St. Sebastian Sockdolager, Esq., the editor of "The 
National Pop-gun and Universal Valve Trumpet," sat at 
a green table, elucidating an idea by the aid of a steel pen 
and whitey-brown paper, and, therefore, St. Sebastian 
Sockdolager did not look up when Mr. Sapid entered the 
sanctum. The abstraction may, perhaps, have been a 
sample of literary stage effect ; but it is certain that the 



78 THE NEWS-BOY. 

pen pursued the idea with the speed and directness of a 
steeple-chase, straight across the paper, and direful was 
the scratching thereof The luckless idea being at last 
fairly run down and its brush cut off, Mr. Sockdolager 
threw himself back in his chair, with a smile of triumph. 

"Tickletoby!" said he, rumpUng his hair into heroic 
expansiveness. 

" What ?" exclaimed Sapid, rather nervously. 

"My dear sir, I didn't see you — a thousand pardons! 
Pray, w^hat can be done for you in our line ?" 

" Sir, there is a nuisance " 

" Glad of it, sir ; the < Gun' is death on a nuisance. 
We circulate ten thousand deaths to any sort of a nui- 
sance every day, besides the w^eekly and the country edi- 
tion. We are a regular smash-pipes in that line — surgical, 
surgical to this community — we are at once the knife and 
the sarsaparilla to human ills, whether financial, political 
or social." 

" Sir, the nuisance I complain of, lies in the circulation 
— in its mode and manner." 

" Bless me !" said Sockdolager, with a look of suspi- 
cion; "you are too literal in your interpretations. If 
your circulation is deranged, you had better try Brandreth, 
or the Fluid Extract of Quizembob." 

"It is not my circulation, but yours, which makes all 
the trouble. I never circulate, — I can't without being 
insulted." 

" Really, mister, I can't say that this is clearly com- 
prehensible to perception. Not circulate ! Are you be- 
low par in the ^ money article,' or in what particular do 
you find yourself in the condition of being « no go '? Ex- 
cuse my facetise and be brief, for thought comes tum- 

blmg, bumping, booming" and Sockdolager dipped 

his pen in the ink. 

Mr. Sappington Sapid unravelled the web of his mise- 



THE NEWS-BOY. 79 

ries. "I wish you, sir, to control your boys — to dismiss 
the saucy, and to write an article which shall make 'em 
ashamed of themselves. I shall call on every editor in 
the city, sir, and ask the same — a combined expression 
for the suppression of iniquity. We must be emanci- 
pated from this new and growing evil, or our liberties 
become a farce, and we are squushed and crushed in a 
way worse than fifty tea- taxes." 

" Pardon me, Mr. Whatcheecallem ; it can't be done — 
it would be suicidal, with the sharpest kind of a knife. 
Whatcheecallem, you don't understand the grand move- 
ment of the nineteenth century — you are not up to snuff 
as to the vital principle of human progression — the pro- 
pulsive force has not yet been demonstrated to your be- 
nighted optics. The sun is up, sir ; the hill-tops of in- 
tellect glow with its brightness, and even the level plain 
of the world's collective mediocrity is gilded by its beams ; 
but you, sir, are yet in the foggy valley of exploded pre- 
judice, poking along with a tuppenny-ha'penny candle 
— a mere dip. Suppress sauciness ! Why, my dear bung- 
letonian, sauciness is the discovery of the age — the secret 
of advancement ! We are saucy now, sir, not by the 
accident of constitution — temperament has nothing to do 
with it. We are saucy by calculation, by intention, by 
design. It is cultivated, like our whiskers, as a super- 
added energy to our other gifts. Without sauciness, 
what is a news-boy? what is an editor? what are revolu- 
tions ? what are people ? Sauce is power, sauce is spirit, 
independence, victory, every thing. It is, in fact, — this 
sauce, or « sass,' as the vulgar have it — steam to the great 
locomotive of affairs. Suppress, indeed ! No, sir ; you 
should regard it as part of your duty as a philanthropist 
and as a patriot, to encourage this essence of superiority 
in all your countrymen; and I've a great mind to 
write you an article on that subject, instead of the 



80 THE NEWS-BOY. 

other, for this conversation has warmed up my ideas so 
completely, that justice will not be done to the commu- 
mty till they, like you, are enlightened on this important 
point." 

St. Sebastian Sockdolager, now having a leading 
article for " The National Pop-gun and Universal Valve 
Trumpet," clearly in his mind, was not a creature to be 
trifled with. An editor in this paroxysm, however gen- 
tle in his less inspired moments, cannot safely be crossed, 
or even spoken to. It is not wise to call him to dinner, 
except through the keyhole, and to ask for " more copy," 
in general a privileged demand, is a risk too fearful to be 
encountered. St. Sebastian's eye became fixed, his brow 
corrugated, his mouth intellectually ajar. 

"But, sir, the nuisance" — said Sappington. 

"Don't bother!" was the impatient reply, and the 
brow of St. Sebastian Sockdolager grew black as his 
own ink. 

" The boys, sir, the boys! — am I to be worried out of 
my life and soul?" 

The right hand of St. Sebastian Sockdolager fell heavily 
upon the huge pewter inkstand — the concatenation of 
his ideas had been broken — he half raised himself from 
his chair and glanced significantly from his visiter to the 
door. 

"Mizzle!" said he, in a hoarse, suppressed whis- 
per. 

The language itself was unintelligible — the word might 
have been Chaldaic, for all that Sapid knew to the con- 
trary ; but there are situations in which an interpreter is 
not needed, and this appeared to be one of them. Sapid 
never before made a movement so swiftly extempo- 
raneous. 

He intends shortly to try whether the Grand Jury is a 
convert to the new doctrine of sauciness. 



THE NEWS-BOY. 81 

Tibbs, in the meantime, grows in means and expands 
in ambition. Progress is in his soul, Uke a reel in a bot- 
tle. He aspires already to a " Hterary agency," and often 
feels as if he were destined to publish more magazines at 
a single swoop than there are now in existence, each of 
which shall have upon its cover, a picture of " The News- 
Boy," while the same device shall gleam upon the panels 
of his coach. 



150 



GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 

WITH HINTS OS CONVERSATION. 

It is a matter both theoretical and practical in our phi- 
losophy, (and we are reckless enough not to care who 
knows it, either,) that, next to lounging at a front window 
when the weather's sunny, to see the world from a safe 
and luxurious ambushment, there are few among human 
pleasures at once so cheap, so agreeable, and so endur- 
ing as that slipshod and unpretending delight of the leisure 
hour, stigmatized by ignorant incapacity under the re- 
proachful name of "gossip." We are not, however, 
about to trouble ourselves to prove the correctness of the 
assertion. There are cases wherein the logical demon- 
stration is an impertinence. If a truth, in matters of feel- 
ing, come not home to us at the instant of its enunciation, 
why, our perceptions are defective — our experiences in- 
complete. We have not been educated and finished up 
to that point. It may be, indeed, that we are not calcu- 
lated to attain it, even with opportunities the most favour- 
able to this species of advancement ; and it is not in the 
nature of words to change the quality of the material of 
which we are composed, or to anticipate the results of 
that practical schooling which chisels away the block to 
bring out the man. In the profundities of wisdom, you 
and I learn nothing from each other. Argument and 
demonstration are wasted, unless there be that within, 
which, to some extent at least, has experimentally proved 
the soundness of the doctrine. To be convinced, is but 
to recognise a conclusion towards which our imperfect 
intelligence had previously been tending ; and hence it is 
that the treatise on morals is so often an encumbrance to 
82 



GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 83 

the shelf. It addresses itself to those who are not suffi- 
ciently ripened by trial and observation, to be gathered up 
in the harvest of the ethical essayist. Available know- 
ledge, in the main conduct of life, is a precious ore, to 
be, with toils and strugglings, mined out by personal 
eflfort. It is not enough that myriads have passed through 
the same process, and have devised to us their experiences 
as a legacy. We are only satisfied when, like the child, 
our own little hand has established the fact that fire will 
bum. We are sure of it then, and govern ourselves ac- 
cordingly ; but the mere dictum of mamma and all the 
warning voices of the nursery, could not otherwise have 
impressed it upon us that the lighted taper is an uncom- 
fortable plaything, as dangerous as it is brilliant. Can 
vanity be soothed into an unassuming temper before its 
inordinate appetites have caused it to falter, enfeebled by 
the very food on which it grew ? Is vaulting ambition 
to be checked, think you, by the uplifted finger of pre- 
cept? Are we to be deterred by "wise saws and mo- 
dern instances," until we have felt it stinging in our in- 
most soul, be it by success, or be it by disappointment, 
that unregulated impulses and morbid cravings lead to 
ssrtiety and to the sickness of the heart ? So, the time 
may be long or short, before we turn with weariness from 
the champagne exhilarations of existence, to find health 
and comfort in its cooling springs ; but, if we are capable 
of wisdom, that time must come ; and happy they, who, 
through many stumblings, by much groping in thick 
darkness, with painful bruises and in sad tribulation, have 
reached the broad refreshing daylight of this conviction. 
Let them not regret the years that have been consumed. 
The remnant is the leaf of the sybil, its value enhanced 
by the antecedent destruction. Weep not over the afflic- 
tions that have been encountered in threading the laby- 
rinths of passionate delusion. A prize has been gained 



84 GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 

worth all its cost ; and we have now taken the first de- 
gree in the great university of human training. 

All our refinements, in the end, resolve themselves into 
nothing more than an unpretending simplicity ; for sim- 
plicity is itself the highest of refinements. Your <' frogged" 
coat and your embroidered vest are indications from the 
circus and the theatre. Rings and jewels and bijouteiie, 
though they may chnk and sparkle innocently enough, do 
still suggest idea? of the faro-table and a predatory life ; 
while gaudiness and assumption give rise to an inference 
that we are making the first attempt in a position above 
our habitude. The true voluptuary, he who regards plea- 
sure as a science and would derive from existence all the 
delight it is capable of yielding, is economical in his en- 
joyments, and shuns the debauch as a serpent in the path. 
Ignorance may feed fat at its evening meal ; but he who 
takes things in their connection, as if they were links in 
a continuous chain, looks beyond the hour, and is con- 
tent with tea and toast ; sweet sleep and a clear head on 
the morrow being essential items in his calculation. 
Whatever be the line of our travel and the nature of our 
experiences, we arrive at simplicity at last, if we are so 
fortunate as to survive the exploration ; and those who 
have outlived this arduous task, which cannot be per- 
formed by proxy, and which is a conscription admitting 
of no substitute, will agree with us that gossip, goodly 
gossip, though sneered at by the immature, is, after all, 
the best of our entertainments. With no disparagement 
to the relish of professional pursuits — without invidious- 
ness towards the ball-room, the dramatic temple, the con- 
cert, the opera or the lecture, we must fall back upon the 
light web of conversation, upon chit-chat, upon gossip, 
an thou wilt have it so, as our mainstay and our chief re- 
liance — as that corps de reserve on which our scattered 
and wearied forces are to rally. 



GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING, 85 

What is there which will bear comparison as a recre- 
ating means, with the free and unstudied interchange of 
thought, of knowledge, of impression about men and 
things, and all that varied medley of fact, criticism and 
conclusion so continually fermenting in the active brain ? 
Be fearful of those who love it not, and banish such as 
would imbibe its dehghts, yet bring no contribution to the 
common stock. There are men who seek the reputation 
of wisdom by dint of never affording a glimpse of their 
capabilities, and impose upon the world by silent gravity 
— negative philosophers, who never commit themselves 
beyond the utterance of a self-evident proposition, or 
hazard their position by a feat of greater boldness than is 
to be found in the avowal of the safe truth w'hich has been 
granted for a thousand years. There is a deception here, 
w^hich should never be submitted to. Sagacity may be 
manifest in the nod of Burleigh's head ; but it does not 
follow that all who nod are Burleighs. He who habit- 
ually says nothing, must be content if he be regarded as 
having nothing to say, and it is only a lack of grace on 
his part which precludes the confession. In this broad 
''Vienna" of human effort, the mere "looker-on" cannot 
be tolerated. It is not to be endured that any one should 
stand higher than his deserts, because he can contrive to 
hold his tongue and has just wit enough to dodge the 
question. And there is no force whatever in an unwill- 
ingness to give forth nonsense, or in the dread of making 
one's self ridiculous. It is part of our duty to be non- 
sensical and ridiculous at times, for the entertainment of 
the rest of the world ; and, if not qualified for a more 
elevated share in the performance, why should we shrink 
from the role allotted to us by nature ? Besides, if we 
are never to open our mouths until the unsealing of the 
aperture is to give evidence of a present Solomon, and to 
add something to the Book of Proverbs, we must, for the 



86 GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 

most part, stand like the statue of Harpocrates, with " still 
your finger on your lips, I pray." If we do speak, under 
such restrictions, it cannot well be, as the world is con- 
stituted, more than once or twice in the course of an ex- 
istence, the rest of the sojourn upon earth being devoted 
to a sublimation of our thought. But always wise, sen- 
sible, sagacious, rational — always in wig and spectacles — 
always algebraic and mathematical — doctrinal and didactic 
— ever to sit like Franklin's portrait, with the index fixed 
upon " causality" — one might as well be a petrified 
"professor," or a William Penn bronzed upon a pedestal. 
There is nothing so good, either in itself or in its eflfects, 
as good nonsense. It is, in truth, the work of genius to 
produce the best article of the kind, and, if men and 
women cannot reach the climax in this particular, they 
owe it to the common welfare to soar as near it as their 
limited capacity will allow. 

But, while it is regarded as a bounden duty upon all 
who enjoy the protection of society, to talk on proper 
occasions, both for the benefit of others, and that, for 
ulterior purposes, the strength of each individual may be 
properly appreciated, still there is no intention to under- 
value the advantage afforded by good listeners. They 
are a source of blessing for which the talking world can- 
not be too grateful. Did they not exist, the vast steam- 
engine of human abihty would lack its safety-valve. 
Explosion would ensue, or we should murderously talk 
each other to death. The man fraught with intellectual 
product, would find no market for its disposition. The 
quick fancies of his wit would beat against the bars in 
vain, and perish miserably by their own efforts to escape. 
Our thinkings are for exportation — not to be consumed 
within. There must be no embargo on the brain, or the 
factory is stopped by accumulating goods. Hence, the 
speaker and the listener combine to make a perfect whole. 



GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 87 

The one is the soil — the other the sun — the plant and 
that refreshing shower, which enables the leaf to put 
forth and the bud to bloom. No man, whatever may be 
the intrinsic force of his genius, can form an idea of 
what he is capable, until he is well listened to. Much of 
his power lies in the auditory. There is a subtle corre- 
spondence betw^een them, which raises or depresses as 
the sympathetic intercommunication happens to be the 
more or less perfect in its vibrations. But there should 
be alternation in this, to develope human powers, to in- 
crease human affections, to complete the republic. There 
must be no division into exclusive classes, the one all 
vivacity, all pertness, all tongue — an unremitting volume 
of sound and a vocal perpetuity of motion ; while the 
other, subdued and overwhelmed, curves into a huge 
concavity of ear, into a mere tympanum for the everlast- 
ing drummer to play upon. Where this happens to be 
the case, from colloquial encroachments on the one hand, 
and from submissive dispositions on the other, there is a 
double degeneration — to words without meaning, and to 
hearing without heeding. They who are talked to be- 
yond the bounds of salutary affliction, only escape the 
fatal result of being subjected to such cruelty, by emulat- 
ing the rhinoceros in his impervious cuticle ; so that the 
pattering storm of speech rebounds innocuously from the 
surface. They close the porches of the sense while elo- 
cution rages around them, and, snug within, cogitate se- 
curely upon their own ruminations. Turn from your florid 
rhetoric to the sharp interrogation, and you shall find the 
patient fast asleep as to external uproar, though his eyes 
be open. Nature has provided him \vith a safeguard- 
he has been bucklered by inattention, and has left you to 
your own applause. 

To listen well, it is not enough that we yield, rescue or 
no rescue, and ask not for quarter, when detained by the 
32 



88 GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 

button or cornered in a cul de sac. More is required than 
hopeless resignation, as, with a sigh, we surrender to an 
inevitable fate. The abject look, so generally worn by 
the man who knows that he is going to be talked to, and 
evinces by his aspect that he has no hope of mercy, is 
unworthy of the heroic soul. It is emphatically an art, 
and it is scarcely necessary to state that there are moments 
when it is no easy art, to " lend me your ears" to our 
mutual profit and pleasure. This is not an anatomical 
demonstration we are upon, that the mere handing over 
of the physical body is sufficient. Your imaginations are 
not to ramble all about the fields, nozzling in every bush 
and giving chase to every butterfly. The appropriate in- 
terjection is wanted, living, breathing, burning ; nicely 
timed, too, and imperceptibly strengthening the oratorical 
wing — not like the Roman citizen of the mimic stage, 
whose accordance with Brutus and whose sympathies 
with Antony, are stamped with that indifference which 
arises from supernumerary station, and whose limited 
share of the receipts causes him to care no more than the 
worth of fifty cents about " Caesar's testament" — but as 
if the business were your own. It is imperative on you 
to adjust the countenance to the nicest expression of ap- 
preciating intelligence — to be in tune, not only in the 
tones of the voice, but in the cadence of the body — to 
display attention in the very play of the fingers — to laugh 
readily, just enough and no more, and to show by slight 
subsequent observation, that all which has been uttered 
is duly estimated, instead of bringing the speaker to the 
ground with a jarring shock, by betraying, in an uncon- 
scious word, that his flight has been alone. The mere 
powers of endurance — fortitude, patience, and long-suffer- 
ing — are indeed much ; but still, they are but a part of 
what is demanded. If it were not so, the passive pump, 
which stands in sad aridity before the door, would an- 



GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 89 

swer every purpose. More is necessary than to be an 
unresisting recipient — a conversational " Deaf Burke," 
who can endure any amount of " punishment" without 
being much the worse for it. Like the red warrior at 
the stake, the perfect Ustener should so comport himself 
as to induce the belief that he has pleasure in his pain, 
and invites its increased continuance. He should be 
made up of tact and benevolence — of courage and hu- 
manity. His nerve should be strong — his perception 
nice. At one moment he needs forbearance, to suppress 
the almost irresistible interruption, and anon, his rapid 
powers of anticipation must be ridden with a curb. His 
philological expertness cannot be permitted to patch the 
gaps of hesitancy, by the impertinent suggestion of a 
word ; but, when intuitive promptness is expected, a 
broken syllable should point the way to a desired conclu- 
sion. Worse, much worse than nothing, is the uneasy 
listener, who, like i' Sister Ann" upon the tower, gazes 
every way for relief, and " sees it galloping" at each 
passing cloud of dust, as if, in short, our beard were blue, 
and our tongue were as remorseless and as sharp as a 
Turkish scimitar ; and worse than Sister Ann is the ab- 
stracted companion, who knows nothing of the subjunc- 
tive mood, but endeavours to break the finely woven 
thread of your discourse by crossing you with irrelevant 
ideas- — he who interrupts your pathetic revelations — per- 
haps of love — you were in love once — almost everybody 
is — by coolly inquiring " when you saw Smith?"' — As if 
you cared any thing about Smith — or were even thinking 
of Smith. Hang Smith ! — Never suffer yourself thus to be 
overcome by Smith, and never talk to that man again, if 
another is to be had. Nor are kindly feelings to be en- 
tertained towards the accommodating friend, that pro- 
voking extract from the " Book of Martyrology," who 
sits him down as nearly as possible in the attitude which 



90 GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 

patience has upon a monument, and looks at your ap- 
proach as if you were surgery itself, fresh from the schools, 
all glitter with instmments and draped in bandage — com- 
passionating his hard lot, but setting his teeth to suffer. 
Mark it well. Should you propose to tell this fellow any 
thing — volunteering to explain to him how it happened, 
clearly and circumstantially, and with no other view than 
to his enlightenment, be prepared for ingratitude, in ad- 
vance — ingratitude, "more strong than traitors' arms." 
A cold reluctance is within him, and he tries to play Pro- 
crustes with your narrative, by asking " how long it will 
take" to give it expression, his tolerance of you being 
measured horologically, as it were, by the hour-glass and 
dial. A shower-bath is warm encouragement compared 
to his notes of acquiescence ; and if he does not yawn — 
what on earth are we to do with people that yawn ? — is 
there no remedy in legislative action i* — why, he always 
swears he understands — " oh, yes — perfectly" — while 
calculating the odds and chances of some distant specu- 
lation, to which you are not a party. It will be observed 
that individuals of such a sort are troubled with a pro- 
pensity to know " what o'clock it is" — not that they have 
any particular interest in the hour, on their own personal 
accoimt, but from a vague hope that the time of day may 
chance to have something in it alarming to you, and that 
you are to be scared from your present prey to attend to 
a remote engagement. A benevolent hearer never wants 
to know what o'clock it is. There is a morose misan- 
thropy in the desire, of which he is incapable ; and if an 
acquaintance with the precise moment be inadvertently 
forced upon him, he has no such cruelty in his bosom as 
to affect a look of surprise and consternation, while he 
hypocritically protests that he had "no idea it was so 
late." They who are loudest in saying that they had 
" no idea it was so late," for the most part, lib. They 



GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 91 

had that idea, and more. They believed that it was as 
late, and they hoped it might be a great deal later. They 
were waiting for the clock to sue out a habeas corpus in 
their case. "Didn't think it was so late," indeed. 
Pshaw ! What question was there touching hours and 
minutes, when our story was but half developed ? "Were 
we singing to Maelzel's Metronome, pry'thee, that we 
are thus to be reminded of beats and bars, and the pre- 
scribed measure of a stave? "Late," say'st thou? 
What is "late?" — There is no such thing as "late" in 
modern civilization. Steam has annihilated space, and 
the " dead-latch-key" has left the word " late" a place 
in the vocabulary, no doubt ; but it has been deprived 
of its operative meaning. When some one sat up for 
you, then lateness was possible ; but now — do you see 
this litde bar of steel, with its pendant and arabesque ter- 
mination — this talismanic "open sesame?" "Late" 
expired when the powers of invention reached their cli- 
max in fashioning forth this curious instrument. No one 
can come in late. Sit thee still, and be not antediluvian. 
Now-a-days, and especially now-a-nights, it is always 
early enough. 

But good listeners, as there has been unhappily too 
much occasion to show, are rarities. When they die, 
they should have monuments loftier far than that of 
Cheops. Pyramids, with " forty centuries looking from 
their top," would not be too much of honour for such 
philanthropists ; and, to render education what it ought to 
be, the human family should be trained to listen, and, at 
the same time, taught to talk. To sit still with dignity 
and composure, is as difficult as to move with ease and 
grace ; yet both are matters of importance in the work of 
refinement. But it is much more essential to success that 
our presence should be hailed with pleasure, because, whe- 
ther speaking or being spoken to, the faculty is possessed of 



92 GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 

giving pleasure to those by whom we are surrounded. 
To converse well — to gossip delightfully, is an art that 
richly deserves to be studied. It does not follow that 
one is a conversationist, or a perfect gossip, by such en- 
dowments, valuable as they are when properly qualified 
by a little of the " allaying Tiber" of sound discretion, as 
fertility of mind, a magazine of facts, and a flood of 
fluency. "Did you ever hear me preach ?" said Cole- 
ridge to Charles Lamb. " I never heard you do any 
thing else," was the sarcastic but truthful reply ; and 
herein abides the common error. There is a fever of 
talkativeness, occasional with some, but constitutional in 
others, which is the bane of social enjoyment. " First- 
fiddleism" is as unpleasant to come in contact with, as to 
pass an evening encaged with a lion of literary, scientific, 
or metaphysical renown. Your Van Amburgs and your 
Driesbachs may be fitted for such an encounter ; but mor- 
tals of inferior nerve find an unpleasant species of annihi- 
lation in the contact. Do not, then, attempt the lion's 
part, even if it be " nothing but roaring ;" nor, unless 
assured past doubt that you possess the skill of Nicolo 
Paganini, is it ever wise to compel protracted attention 
to your single string, when others have quite as strong a 
desire to scrape their Cremonas, as that which burns in 
your own musical bosom. Play no more than is neces- 
sary to the harmonious effect of the whole orchestra ; and, 
should occasion offer for a solo, give it and be done. 
Monopoly in discourse is " most tolerable, and not to be 
endured." It should be punishable by statute, thus to 
invade the inalienable right of utterance. 

It is not even freedom to go abroad, when the garru- 
lous kite has wing, to swoop upon his quarry. The 
liberty — the life itself — of the citizen is at stake, from that 
stoutly timbered magazine of words, who, strengthened 
by practice, and warmed by self-complacency, sustains 



GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 93 

no injury from wind or weather, and will dilate for hours, 
in frosty streets, to those who come within the dreadful 
clutch. We see him now, smiling in conscious triumph, 
as his prize shivers, shakes, and trembles almost to spec- 
tral nothingness, and feels most sadly that this is not all 
his sufferings — that catarrhs, and feverous aches and pains 
creep into him at every word. Homicidal — is it not, thus 
to thin out our population ? An oversight in criminal 
jurisprudence, to let destruction forth into the highways, 
to run at unprotected men. Cunning doctors do not note 
it in their cautions, and the bills of mortality are silent on 
the subject; but it is no less a truth, that though the vic- 
tim may sometimes be able to travel homeward after the 
catastrophe, he often gets him to his bed, if he escape the 
undertaker, from such combined assaults of breeze and 
bore as are now before us. Wouldst thou despatch thine 
enemy? What need of steel or poison — why lurk in 
slouched hat, in moustache, or with stiletto ? There is a 
safer method, and, having no other accomplice than the 
thermometer, waylay him as he goes, with smiling face 
and oiled tongue. You have him there, and safely too. 
Chemistry has no surer poison, if you hold him fast ; and 
justice has no cognisance of the deed. 



The true conversationist requires as nice a balance of 
qualities as the adroit swordsman. He should have an 
eye, an ear and a tongue, equally on the alert, perfectly 
under control, and skilled to act together. It is his duty 
to be able to mark the moment when a slumbering idea 
is awakened in the mind of another, and to afford oppor- 
tunity for its development. When the thought quivers 
in an almost inaudible murmur upon the lips of the timid, 
it is not to be suppressed in premature death by the rat- 
tling noise of practised confidence ; not to be driven over, 



94 GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 

if we may so describe it, by each hackney cab that thun- 
ders up the street. It claims to be deferentially educed, 
not so much by a display of patronising encouragement, 
which is almost as fatal as harsh disregard, but by that 
respectful attention which creates no painful sense of in- 
feriority. He cannot pretend to civilization, who, in his 
wild dance of intellectual excitement, tramples under his 
massive foot all the little chickens of our imagination, 
and scares each half-fledged fancy back to its native shell. 
Be it rather your pleasure to chirp the tremblers forth to 
the corn of praise and the sunshine of approbation. Who 
has not found himself to be totally absorbed by the volu- 
bihty of others; so that he could neidier find subject nor 
words, even when an interval was left for their exercise ? 
And who has not often been altogether debarred from the 
delight of speaking, merely because he had not space to 
set himself fully in motion ? Many, perhaps, have re- 
signed themselves to the taciturnity of La Trappe and 
have gone voiceless to their graves, from injudicious 
treatment in this respect. The humane citizen, then, 
will not of himself take all the labour of talking, lest he 
may be inadvertently stifling a Demosthenes, and smoth- 
ering a Cicero — a case, it is true, which does not very 
often happen, though it might happen. 

And, besides, let it be remarked, there is no fact, in 
our day of innovation, scheming and discovery — when 
we reform, remodel, and lay our hands upon every thing 
— which deserves to be more strongly imprinted on the 
recollection than this, that man does not go forth into 
society, " no, nor woman neither," armed, cap-a^-pie, like 
a gladiator, to batde for opinion, or to thrust the sword 
of conversion through reluctant ribs. Let such things be 
confined to the dedicated halls of controversial debate, 
where one may be polemically impaled, secundum arteniy 
expecting no better treatment. It is good to be wise— 



GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 95 

« merry and wise," saith the song ; but, then, wisdom 
need not always be at our throat with spoon and bowl, 
determined to administer nutriment, without regard to the 
state of the appetite. Did it never occur to you, my 
game friend, as you strapped on your gaffs, and crowed 
defiance at a rooster of another feather, that the rest of 
the social circle do not derive your pleasure from the " set- 
to," and would gladly be excused from being annoyed by 
the argumentative combat ? And, as for hobbies, they 
prance prettily enough on their proper ground ; but do 
not let them caracole in the parlour. People would rather 
be kicked by any thing than by other people's hobbies ; 
and, again, these hobbies, being merely composed of wood 
and leather, are never wearied, and cannot stop. They 
outstrip everybody, and carry none with them. Hark, in 
your ear. Leave hobby at home ; he will not be restive 
or break things, when you are not by. It is disagreeable 
to be ridden down by these unaccommodating quadru- 
peds. Folks do not like it. 

The engi'ossing idea, too, should be hung up with the 
hat in the vestibule. It is near enough there ; and, ad- 
mitting that you have troubles of your own, ambitions of 
your own, prospects of your own, projects and inventions 
of your own, let it always be borne distinctly in mind 
that this, singular as it may appear, is, to a certain de- 
gree, the case with several other individuals of your ac- 
quaintance. What right they have to an engrossing idea 
when yours wishes to awaken their sympathies, is a point 
of equity which we cannot take it upon ourselves to de- 
cide ; but it is so, nevertheless, as the groaning soldier 
found when rebuked for making so much noise over 
his hurts, « as if, forsooth, no one is hit but yourself."— 
"Am I then reposing on a bed of roses?" said Guate- 
mozin, in a similar spirit, to his complaining courtier, 
when Spanish cruelty had stretched them upon the 



96 GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 

glowing grate ; and every man has, to some extent, a 
gridiron to himself. — To push this point still further, are 
they entitled to rank with conversationists, who stand as 
greyhounds on the slip, with straining eyes and quivering 
limbs, heedless of all remark, and waiting only till an 
opening be made, that they may course their peculiar 
game, rabbit or otherwise, as the case may be ? Are 
they qualified gossips, who only talk to exercise the organ, 
and to luxuriate on the sound of their own sweet voices ? 
■ — who, at last, dash forward over every impediment, and, 
hy their bad example, like prairie horses in a stampede, 
set the whole circle into a very Babel of tongues — into 
what we may call a steeple-chase, straight across the 
country, and through any man's field — each for himself, 
boot and saddle, whip and spur? Nay, never think it. 
He is scant in his schooling who shifts impatiently from 
foot to foot when another has the floor — who darts his 
restless head into the aperture of every pause, in the hope 
that the shoulders may be permitted to follow, and who is 
only kept in abeyance by those stentorian lungs which 
crush the puny interruption. 

No — to gossip well is a delicate thing — a game of ad- 
dress — a school of self-command — an academy for nice 
perceptions. To be skilled in it, involves the main points 
of an accomplished gentleman. It furnishes, moreover, 
a key to character. The selfish man cannot be versed 
in it, for he has no appreciation of the minor rights of 
others, and, in this garden, no compulsory code exists to 
prevent him from pocketing all the fruit. Harshness is 
incompatible with it, for it is the very essence of respect- 
ful consideration. The domineering spirit cannot gain 
laurels here ; while pride and vanity display themselves 
in their true colours. The proselytes of Lavater and the 
disciples of Combe may, by their science, be enabled to 
read the soul ; but, as the one traces the lines of the coun- 



GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 97 

tenance, and the other toils among the hills and valleys 
of the skull, the surest observer of disposition is he who 
notes the deportment of those bearing part in the animated 
gossip. Before him, the secret unrolls like a map, and 
the geography of the heart is familiar to his searching eye. 
When the glow lights up within, there is a ray behind 
the best adjusted mask which reveals the features as 
they are. 

As the day is utilitarian, the cui bono, the advantage 
and the profit, form a material part of every matter, and it 
will be found that to cultivate these responsive faculties 
—to add the art of hearing and of speaking to the cata- 
logue of accomplishments — has a moral as well as a plea- 
sure in it. A skilful talker, who is, at the same time, a 
thorough listener, is not a spontaneity — an unlessoned 
creature. Oaks do not bear such acorns. The spirit of 
such a one, if feeble, has been strengthened. His temper, 
if tempestuous, has been subdued. He has sympathies, 
cultivated and refined. He feels for those around him, 
in great things and in small. He is that wisest of phi- 
losophers, the well regulated man of the world, who shuns 
the wrong because he knows its evils, and adopts the 
right, from having proved it to be an essential to his own 
happiness, and the happiness of others. And what con- 
tributes more largely to this important end, than a perfect 
system of hearing and of being heard? Nature does not 
furnish it. To be nothing more than natural, is to be an 
egotist, a glutton, a monopolizer. That the untrained steed 
has power enough, is not to be disputed ; but, in the simpli- 
city of his unsophisticated heart, he is apt to apply his 
strength in an uncomfortable manner, to those who wander 
within range of his heel, never thinking that the joy he 
derives from the rapid extension of his locomotive mus- 
cles, is not likely to be reciprocated on our part. He is 
not aware of the difference of sensation between kickjng 
151 



98 GOSSIP ABOUT GOSSIPING. 

and being kicked, which is often a point to be considered. 
It is even so with bipeds, who have not properly under- 
gone the discipUne of the manege. It cannot be denied 
that the child of nature has something in him of the poeti- 
cal ; but, in practice, he is likely to border on the un- 
couth and uncontrollable. 

If, therefore, after the experiment of a year, according 
to our suo:s:estion, it be found that the trial does not brinoj 
out the better constituents of character, while restraining 
those of less amiability, why, continue to chatter, without 
stint or Hmitation, to the end of your days, and throw no 
chance away, unless compelled to it by exhaustion ; or, if 
it please you, sit in sulky silence, and have never a word 
by way of change. 



SHIVERTON SHAKES; 

OH, THE UNEXPRESSED IDEA. 

Shiverton Shakes had an idea — a cup of tea had 
warmed the soil of his imagination, and it was flowering 
to fruit — he had an idea in bud — a thought which strug- 
gled to expand into expression, and to find a place in the 
great basket of human knowledge. 

Shiverton Shakes had an idea, and ideas, whether great 
or small — whether good, bad or indifferent — must have 
utterance, or the understanding wilts and withers. Even 
the body sympathetically suffers. It is easy to mark the 
man who smothers his intellectual offspring — the moral 
infanticide, with his compressed lip, his cadaverous hue, 
his sinister eye, and his cold, cautious deportment ; whose 
thinkings never go out of doors, and lack health for want 
of air and exercise. That man is punished for his cruelty 
to nature, by a dyspepsia affecting both his mental and 
physical organization. There is no health in him. 

But it must not be forgotten that Shiverton Shakes had 
an idea — little Shiverton, in his earlier years, when the 
world is fresh and new, and when the opening faculties 
are wild in their amazement. 

"Mamma," said Shiverton, suspending the assault 
upon his bread and butter, "mamma, what d'ye think? 
— as I was going down — " 

Mr. and Mrs. Shakes were too earnestly engaged in 
the interchange of their own fancies, to heed the infantile 
voice of Shiverton. 

"What d'ye think, ma?" repeated the youthful aspi- 
rant for the honour of a hearing ; " as I was going down 

Chestnut street, I saw — " 

99 



100 SHIVERTON SHAKES. 

« A little more sugar, my dear," said Mr. Shakes. 

« And, as I was telling you," added Mrs. Shakes, 
« Mary Jones has got — " 

"Sweetened to death! There — don't!" said Mr. 
Shakes, withdrawing his cup rather petulantly. 

" Down Chestnut street, I saw — " 

"A new black hat, trimmed with — " 

"Sugar enough to fill a barrel," muttered Mr. 
Shakes. 

" I saw — " 

"Hat with— " 

"Tea spoilt altogether — give me another — " 

"Very httle black hat, trimmed with — " 

" Two boys, and what d'ye think !" chimed in the per- 
severing Shiverton Shakes. 

"Why, what is all this?" exclaimed Mr. Shakes, as 
he raised his eyes in anger. " Hats and boys and sugar! 
I never heard such a Babel!" 

" That child !" ejaculated Mrs. Shakes ; " did you ever 
know — " 

" Two boys, and they were a — " continued Shiverton, 
pursuing his own peculiar train of reminiscence, undis- 
turbed by Mary Jones or any thing else, and happy in 
feeling that there now appeared to be no impediment to 
the flow of his narrative. 

But yet, this moment, though he knew it not, was a 
crisis in the fate of Shiverton Shakes — a circumflex in the 
line of his being ; slight perhaps in itself, but very ma- 
terial in determining the result of the journey. 

Mr. Shakes fixed his eye upon his son — Mr. Shakes 
seemed to ponder for a moment. 

" I cannot stand it any longer," said he, " and what is 
more, I won't — that boy is a nuisance — he talks so much 
that I cannot tell what I'm reading, taste what I'm eating, 
or hear what I'm saying. I'm not sure, in fact, when he 



SHIVERTON SHAKES. 10 1 

is present, that I know exactly whether it's me or not, 
He wants to talk all the time." 

Luckless Shiverton had been running wild in the 
country for a considerable period, and, while his elocu- 
tionary capacities had been greatly developed, the power of 
endurance in his parents had been weakened for want of 
exercise. They were out of practice — he was in high 
training. They were somewhat nervous, — he was, both 
in mind and body, in the best possible condition, deriv- 
ing as much nourishment from the excitement of noise as 
he did from food. 

" Well, I declare, he does talk all the time and asks 
such questions — so foolish I can't answer them," ex- 
claimed the mother, with her usual volubility; "just as 
if there was a reason for every thing — so tiresome. I do 
declare, when he is in the room, I can scarcely slip in a 
word edgeways, and his tongue keeps such a perpetual 
clatter, that since he came back, I hardly think I've heard 
my own voice more than — " 

"You hear it now," said Mr. Shakes; "but I'm de- 
termined Shiverton shall be spoiled no longer. Do you 
hear ? From this time forth, you must never speak but 
when you are spoken to. Little boys must be seen, and 
not heard." 

" Well, I do declare, so they must — mus'n't be seen 
and not be heard — that's the way to bring up children." 

" Shiverton," added his father, impressively ; "' Shiv- 
erton, when you are old enough to talk sensibly, then 
you may talk. When you are mature enough — I say 
mature — " 

"What is mature?" inquired Shiverton, tremblingly. 

" Mature is — never mind what it is — when you are 
older you'll know. But, as I before remarked, when you 
are mature enouojh to understand things, then you may 
ask about them." 



102 SHIVERTON SHAKES. 

The rule, thus emphatically laid down, was enforced 
inexorably. It, therefore, not only happened that Shiver- 
ton's idea was suppressed on the occasion referred to, 
thus preventing the world from ever arriving at a know- 
ledge of what really was done by those two mysterious 
boys, as he went down Chestnut street, but likewise cut- 
ting him off from other communications relative to the 
results of his experience and observation. Henceforth he 
was to be seen, not heard — a precept and a rule of con- 
duct which he was compelled to w^ite in his copybook, 
as well as to hear, whenever the workings of his spirit 
prompted him to " speak as to his thinkings." The twig 
was bent — the tree inclined. 

What Shiverton Shakes might have been, had the 
trunk of his genius been permitted to ascend according to 
its original impulse, is now but matter for conjecture. 
How far he would have reached in his umbrageous ex- 
pansion, had the shoots of his soul been judiciously 
trimmed and trellised — sunned, shaded and watered — who 
can tell ? There may be a blank in glory's book which 
his name should have filled — an empty niche in our cen- 
tury's greatness, where Shiverton Shakes should have been 
embalmed. At this instant, perhaps, the world suffers 
because some momentous truth w^hich it was for him to 
have drawn to light, is still "hushed within the hollow 
mine of earth." Why, indeed, may we not suppose that 
when he was rebuked for making chips, to the annoyance 
of the tidy housekeeper, an invention perished in its very 
inception which would have superseded the steam-engine ? 
What might Shiverton Shakes — Shiverton cherished — 
Shakes undismayed — what might he not have been ? A 
warrior, probably, phlebotomizing men by the battalion 
and by the brigade, and piling skulls to build his way to 
fame. Why not a patriot and a statesman, heading par- 
ties and carrying elections, with speeches from the stumn 



SHIVERTON SHAKES. 103 

and huzzas from the multitude ? Nor would it be con- 
sidering too curiously if it were to be imagined that, had 
circumstances been propitious, Shiverton Shakes might, 
at this very hour, have been in the enjoyment of the highest 
of human honours and the most sublime of modern inven- 
tions, that of being pilloried by the political press and 
flung at by half the nation — the new pleasure, for which 
an exhausted voluptuary of the classic age breathed sighs 
in vain. 

But such delights as these were denied to Shiverton 
Shakes, who was too strictly taught to be seen and not 
heard — who was not to speak until he was spoken to ; in 
consequence whereof, as the invitation was not very often 
extended, he came near being deprived of the faculty of 
speech altogether. 

When Shiverton Shakes came home — " why, there's 
company in the parlour," and Shiverton Shakes went to 
learn manners and deportment in the kitchen. Shiverton 
Shakes breakfasted, dined and supped in the kitchen, and 
when promoted by a call up stairs, Shiverton mumbled in 
his words, fumbled in his pockets and rumpled among 
his hair. An ungainly lout was Shiverton Shakes. He 
had been, so to speak, paralyzed by his undeveloped 
idea. His original confidence, instead of being modulated 
and modified, had been extirpated, and the natural aplomb 
of his character — that which keeps men on their feet, 
maintaining the adjustment and balance of their faculties 
— had been destroyed. 

"The boy is a booby," said Mr. Shakes ; " why can't 
you stand up straight and speak out ? — you're old enough." 

"Well, I do declare," subjoined Mrs. Shakes, "I'm 
quite ashamed of him. I can't think how he came to be 
such a goose. When Mary Jones spoke to him the other 
day, I do declare if he didn't put his thumb right in his 
eye, and almost twist himself out of his jacket; and when 
33 



x04 SHIVERTON SHAKES. 

she asked him what he learned at school, all he could 
say was 'he! he! I don't know.' He shan't show him- 
self again till he behaves belter — a great long — " 

" I don't like to be harsh — in fact, I'm rather too in- 
dulgent," philanthropically remarked Mr. Shakes; "but, 
if I were to do my duty by this boy, I ought to chastise 
him out of these awkward tricks. There — go — down 
stairs with you. It's the only place you're fit for." 

"He must never be allowed to come up when any 
body's here — not till he knows how to speak to people." 

Such was the earlier life of Shiverton Shakes. He 
was not to plunge into the billows of the world before he 
had learned to swim, and yet was denied the opportunity 
to acquire the rudiments of this species of natation, in 
those smaller rills and ripples where alone the necessary 
confidence and dexterity are to be obtained. It was per- 
haps believed that he could cast the boy ofT and assume 
the man, without preliminary training, and that, having 
been seen but not heard, for so many years, he would have 
an instinctive force, at the proper moment, to cause him- 
self both to be seen and heard, thus suddenly stepping 
from one extreme to the other. There may be such 
forces in some people — in people who, in a phrenological 
aspect, have a large propelling power, to drive them 
over the snags, sawyers and shallows of this " shoal of 
time." They were not, however, to be found in Shiver- 
ton Shakes. Nor was he a proof of the correctness of 
that common parental theory, so often urged to palliate 
and to excuse deficiencies in culture and supervision, 
that he would " know better when he grew older," thus 
endeavouring to make future years responsible for duties 
which should be performed by ourselves and at the exist- 
uig moment. This method of " knowing better" may suit 
the procrastinating disposition, and there may be instances 
in which it engenders a corrective influence ; but it 



SHIVERTON SHAKES. 



105 



is at best a doubtful experiment to permit defects to 
« harden into petrifaction," while awaiting the uncertain 
period of removal. That we may " know better when 
we are older" is like enough ; but then, will we do better? 
Who, of all the world, does better— much better— half 
as much better as he ought— as he "knows better?" 
There are differences, sad to experience, hard to over- 
come, between knowing and doing. The right habitude 
is the surest panoply. Shiverton Shakes had no habitude 
but the wrong habitude — no panoply at all. 

Shiverton went forth into the world— shrinkingly forth — 
modestly forth, and so forth, which perhaps is very amia- 
ble as an abstraction, though its value, in a peculiarly 
brazen state of society, is not quite so great, in a practical 
point of view, as the school-books would have us to be- 
lieve—for if, as we are told, this modesty is a candle to 
one's merit, there must be some strange omission in re- 
gard to Hghting the wick, and, unless that process be com- 
plied with, it is as clear as darkness can make it, that all 
the candles in the universe will do but Httle toward an 
illumination. It is at least certain that Shiverton's merit 
gained no refulgence from his unobtrusiveness, and that 
his retiring disposition, so far from promoting his interests 
and extending his fame, according to the philosophic 
notion on the subject, came near causing him to be pushed 
out of sight and forgotten altogether. No one searched 
him from his obscurity — fortune passed by his door with- 
out knocking, and reputation swept onward without 
offering him a seat in its vehicle. Yet Shiverton was as 
modest as modest could be — as modest, according to the 
popular comparison, as a sheep. He thought nothing of 
himself at all — he invariably got out of the way when 
other people wanted to advance, on the principle of " after 
you is manners," and when others spoke first, he was 
particularly careful to speak last, or not to speak at all ; 



106 SHIVERTON SHAKES. 

suppressing his own wishes, feelings, and opinions, to pro- 
mote the general harmony. A retiring man was Shiver- 
ton, and he obtained an occupation wherein his main 
intercourse was with his pen and with columns of figures, 
so that he still could be seen and not heard, according to 
the regulation which governed his childhood. He stooped 
as he walked, that his superiority of height (for Shiverton 
had stretched in longitude far beyond his unpretending 
wishes) might be lost, as it were, in the smaller crowd ; 
and he went home, as far as it was possible to do so, by 
the " alley way," to escape the ostentation of parading the 
thoroughfares, and to elude the embarrassing operation 
of returning salutations to those with whom he was una- 
voidably acquainted. What would Shiverton Shakes 
not have given if he had known nobody — if there were 
nobody here but himself, or if he could consume this 
troublesome " how d'ye do" existence in a back room, 
up three pair of stairs, where no one could by possibility 
come? And his bashfulness grew by being indulged. 
He suffered, not only by the painful sensations of his 
own timidity, but more by the thought that others like- 
wise saw into his perturbations, and derived enjoyment 
from his internal distress. He appropriated every laugh 
to himself — he could not think that when he was within 
range of observation, there could reasonably be any 
other jest so likely to provoke a smile ; and when people 
talked together with mirthfulness on their countenance, 
he was sure that the awkwardnesses and defects of Shiver- 
ton Shakes were under discussion. He had never heard 
of any thing else at home, and he always felt as if he 
were a discreditable intruder, who ought, if any thing, to 
apologize for having come into this breathing world at 
all. Had there been such a thing as a back door to our 
sublunary sphere, he would certainly have opened it, if 
it could have been done without noise, and have crept 



SHIVERTON SHAKES. 107 

out, glad to escape into the immeasurable solitude of 

ether. 

But a retreat of this sort is not possible, accordmg to 
existing planetary arrangements, without a recourse to 
means to which Shakes had a repugnance. The sensi- 
bility of his nervous system rejected the thought of a cold 
bath by midnight, with brickbats in his vest and paving 
stones in his coat pockets— the pistol is a means of dis- 
missal altogether too noisy for the retiring disposition, and 
the elevation of the cord shows an aspiring temper which 
would not have been at all characteristic in Shiverton 
Shakes. Besides, a jury in such cases generally looks 
for the impulsive reason, and how ridiculous it would 
seem to be returned in the newspapers, as one who had 
voluntarily gone defunct through lack of brass ! Such an 
imagination could not be entertained even for an instant. 
There would be more chuckling than ever. Shiverton 
resolved to live— to be Shakes to the end of his terraque- 
ous term, no matter how unpleasant it might be. 

Still, however, manoeuvre as one may, we cannot 
always avoid contact with the world in some of its phases. 
Invitations will come, for instance, from which there is 
no moral possibiUty of evasion. To be very unwell, 
sometimes answers a good purpose, if indeed these dodgmg 
purposes be ever good, when the motive is simply a dodge 
from a failure in self-reliance. It wiU do to have prior 
engagements occasionally when none such exist, and the 
pressure of business at certain seasons may be extreme ; 
but, exert ourselves to that end as we may, there are few 
individuals who can contrive to be ill all the time, or 
always to have a prior engagement, or to be busy so con- 
tinually as not to have an evening to spare ; and then a 
point blank non inve7itus, without the shadow of a pallia- 
tion, is scarcely to be attempted under certain circum- 
stances. It requires the imperturbable solidity of a deaa 



108 SHIVERTON SHAKES. 

wall to be guilty of it. It sits upon the soul like a night- 
mare, and the guilty wakes next morning with a con- 
science as heavy as a millstone. Shiverton Shakes was 
cornered by such an invitation — to a dance of the most 
extensive and brilliant description — in honour of the mar- 
riage of the daughter of one concerning whom he had 
post mortem expectations — expectations which he fondly 
dreamed would productively survive the individual who 
had given rise to them. It was, therefore, what we may 
call, for want of an established phrase to describe it, the 
invitation undeniable — the trident of an appeal, which 
forks on either side and pins one through the body. It 
was an invitation which, with all Shiverton's agile prac- 
tice in this respect, he could neither leap over nor 
creep under. It was not to be got round, on the right 
hand or upon the left. It enflanked and enfiladed — en- 
circled and hemmed in. Yet, if boldly faced, it was ob- 
vious that Shiverton Shakes could not help being, to some 
extent at least, a feature on the occasion — occasions, like 
countenances, must have features, or they cease to be 
occasions. But to be suddenly elevated into a feature — 
projected from the level into a promontory, like some 
diver duck of a volcanic island — when we are not used 
to it — when we don't know how ! Who, in such a crisis, 
could avoid feeling like Shakes ? To be a protuberance — 
a card — a first or a second fiddle, with no acquaintemce 
with the bow and innocent of rosin — to dance with the 
bride — to be fascinating to the maids — to make himself 
generally agreeable, he, who had never before been on 
such hard duty — to be easy, graceful, and witty — " pre- 
posterous and pestiferous!" cried Shiverton Shakes; 
" me making myself agreeable ! I should like to catch 
myself at it." 

Shiverton was haunted by Mrs. Marygold's note. In 
his dreams, it was like the air drawn dagger of the tragedy. 



SHIVERTON SHAKES. 109 

It seemed to " marshal him the way he was to go," and 
beckoned him on, not to Duncan's surcease — Duncan 
surceased in the dark — the fewer witnesses the better — 
but to something much worse, in his fearful estimation — 
to violins and laughter — to smiles and compliments — to 
airs and graces — to silks and cologne — blooming bou- 
quets, pearly teeth and sparkling eyes — more terrible to 
him than frowning ramparts and stern artillery. 

Shiverton sat alone in his chamber. The lamp burned 
dimly, and the fatal note, its perfume not yet departed, 
lay before him. 

" There's my ankle," said he, after a gloomy pause, 
"if I could only sprain it now, without hurling myself 
much — sprain it gently — but no — that wont do — they'd 
guess in a minute — and I couldn't very conveniently con- 
trive to break my neck for a day or two, by way of 
something original ; but I almost wish it was broke. It 
would save a fellow a great deal of trouble. I should 
like to raise a fever, if I only knew how ; but I can't find 
a headache with all the shaking I can give it. Perhaps 
it wouldn't do to be found «no more' when they came, to 
call me to breakfast, on the morning of this horrible 
dance ; but I wish I was no more — I wish I never had 
been more at all. But more or less, I must go, if an 
earthquake does not intervene, or if there is not a blow 
up of some sort. But these things never happen when 
they're wanted. I never found the dentist out in my life 
when I was to be hurt. There are matters which can't 
postpone. Hanging day is hanging day, whether it rains 
or shines, and then hanging day is never yesterday — I 
don't mind things when they're past — hanging day is 
always to-morrow or to-day — something to come — some- 
thing that's not done, but must be done. It appears to 
me that I'm never done, but always doing — going to be 
done." 



110 SHIVERTON SHAKES. 

After this escapade, Shiverton was moodily silent — 
expressionless outwardly, save in the uneasy transposition 
of his pedal extremities, while his brows were knitting 
like a weaver's loom. 

" If they'd let me be, now — but they wont — they never 
do," continued he sharply ; " let me be in a corner, or in 
the refreshment room, eating things and drinking things — 
cracking nuts, or forking pickled oysters, or spooning in 
ice cream, and nobody looking on — it always chokes me 
when anybody's looking on — things wont get on the spoon, 
and my plate is sure to spill and run over — if they'd do so, 
I'd be able to get along well enough ; but then I must go 
in among the ladies — there's nothing scares me more than 
ladies — good-looking ladies particularly — I can't talk to 
them — they frighten me like Old Scratch. Yet I've got 
all the books about manners, in that closet — ^ American 
Chesterfield,' <■ Etiquette,' and all that — why don't some- 
body pubUsh how to flourish away in other people's 
houses, so we can learn it in three lessons, like French, 
Italian and Spanish ? That's the kind of cheap literature 
I want." 

At last he sprung impatiently from his chair, and the 
clock struck one. 

"Since I must go to Mrs. Marygold's whether I will 
or not, I had better begin to practise as soon as possible — 
practise tea party" — and Shiverton brushed up his hair 
and pulled down his wristbands ; " that's the way, I sup- 
pose. — Now I come in, so," and he threw his head aside 
in a languishing manner — " Hope you're very well, Mrs. 
Marygold — that chair's the old lady — how dee doo, Mrs. 
Marygold — how's Bob ? — no, not Bob — how is Mr. 
Robert ? — then that bedpost's the old man — compliments 
to the old man — that wash-stand is the young ladies, all 
of a bunch — your most obedient, says I, in a sort of off- 
hand way — most obedient to the wash-stand, and a sort 




" ' Now I come in, so,' and he threw his head aside in a languishing manner 
— 'Hope you're very well, Mrs. Marygold — that chair's the old lady — how dee 
doo, Mrs. Marygold — how's Bob ? — no, not Bob — how is Mr. Robert? — then that 
bed-post's the old man — compliments to the old man — that wash-stand is the 
young ladies, all of a bunch.' ''—Book III, page 110. 



SHIVERTON SHAKES. Ill 

of a slide all round. Pooh ! it's easy enough, if you go 
right at it — who's afraid? Ha! ha!" and Shiverton be 
came excited, bowing about the room. "Dance! why 
yes, to be sure I will. Pleasure of dancing with Miss 
Slammerkin ? — ho ! ho ! tolderol ! tolderol ! chassez across 
—swing corners — slambang! pigeon-wing!" 

Shiverton's operations in this matter were rather of the 
old school ; more, it is to be presumed, from the dash of 
desperation that tinged his spirit at the time, than from 
any other cause ; and so, forgetting, if he ever knew it, 
the easy, unambitious and nonchalant manner of the mo- 
dern ball-room, he set arms and legs agoing with the 
whirligig vigour and expansive reach of a windmill. The 
floor creaked and trembled — the windows rattled and 
shook ; but still he danced away with the concentrated 
energy of one who " had business would employ an 
age, and but a moment's time to do it in." He was, in 
fact, and without being conscious of it, realizing a great 
moral and physiological truth. His mental uneasiness 
found relief in physical action, on the principle which 
renders the body restless when the mind is disturb-ed, 
that the superabundance of the nervous force may be di- 
verted from our thoughts to our muscles. Care and bash- 
fulness seemed to be driven away together. The rust 
flew off*, and a momentary hardness and transient polish 
appeared. 

He upset the chair. " Mrs. Marygold's done for," 
said he, in breathless exultation. Crash went the table. 
« Supper's over — let's waltz ! Taglioni and Queen Vic- 
toria — who's afraid I I knew I only wanted to begin, to 
go ahead of D'Orsay !" and he flew round like a top, to 
the complete discomfiture of the " Dukedom of Hereford 
and those movables." 

"Murder! — or fire! — or thieves! — or something!" 
screamed Mrs. Fitzgig, the landlady, as she awoke in 



112 SHIVERTON SHAKES. 

trepidation from her slumbers, the more appalled because 
it was impossible to imagine what was the matter. Ter- 
ror is never so terrific as when we do not know what 
terrifies us. " Boh !" cried in the dark, will unsettle the 
firmest nerves, because it has never yet been decided 
exactly what " Boh !" means. People will tremble and 
run at " Boh !" who do not shrink fi:om surgery or from 
an unpaid bill. 

The uproar continued, and at last Mrs. Fitzgig, wuth 
her boarders, men, women and children, leaped from their 
beds and rushed, blanketed and sheeted, to the scene of 
action. 

" Shiverton Shakes is crazy — run for Doctor Slop !" 

"Shave his head!" said one. 

"Knock him down!" exclaimed another. 

" Law suz !" pathetically cried Mrs. Fitzgig, looking 
at the devastation — "What's all this?" 

" It's tea-party — it's hop— it's ball !" shouted Shiver- 
ton, for once grown bold, and seizing upon his landlady 
■ — '" Why don't you jump along ? — swing around — prac- 
tice makes perfect!" 

The laughter, loud and long, which followed these 
explanatory exclamations, brought Shiverton Shakes to 
his senses, and awakened him from his dream of ball- 
room triumph, as if he had suddenly been subjected to 
the tranquillizing influence of a shower-bath. 

" Exercise — nothing but exercise — bad health — too 
much confined," muttered he — "a man must have ex- 
ercise." 

" But two o'clock in the morning 's not the time, is it? 
and breaking things is not the way, I guess," said Mrs. 
Fitzgig, sulkily. Shiverton Shakes paid the damages, 
but the balance of ridicule was not so easily settled. It 
is a strange thing, too, that the rehearsal should be a sub- 
ject of derision, when the deed itself is rather commend- 



SHIVERTON SHAKES. 113 

able than otherwise. If a man is found making speeches 
to himself, people will regard it as a joke, and should he 
be discovered taking off his hat to his own reflection in 
the mirror, that he may bow with grace in the street, and 
perform his devoir to fair damsels with becoming elegance, 
why he would never hear the last of it. Always turn the 
key, and speak sofdy when practising gentlemanly de- 
portment to supposititious society. If you experience a 
lack of preparatory drill in the art of making yourself 
peculiarly agreeable, go through your discipline in the 
vacant garret, and should there be no bolt to the entrance, 
keep your face to the door, that you may confront the 
sudden intruder, with a vacant countenance and the frag- 
ment of a tune, as if nothing in the world were the mat- 
ter. Demosthenes himself must have felt w^hat is now 
termed " flat," when detected shoveling flints into his 
mouth, to turnpike his vocalities, and to Macadamise the 
way for his oratorical genius. To do such things is 
praiseworthy. To be surprised in the act, is the offence. 
The spirit of Lycurgus survives in the nineteenth century, 
and the Spartans were not alone in thinking that it is not 
the deed, but the discovery, which is to be reproved. 
Shakes found it so, when jeered for his social training. 
And, in referring to this popular contradiction, which 
asks for the thing, and in some sort derides one of the 
means of obtaining it, we cannot refrain from introducing, 
as an illustration, a colloquy in which our hero bore a part. 

It was in the evening, at Mrs. Fitzgig's — Shakes was 
forlornly looking into the fire- but few of the family re- 
mained, and Mr. Dashoff Uptosnuff, a gentleman proba- 
bly of northern descent, but professing to know a thing 
or two in the west, twisted his moustache, adjusted his 
flowing locks, and ceased for a moment to admire his legs. 

"Shakes," said Dashoff Uptosnuff, "this sheepishness 
of yours will never do, at your time of life.'"* 
152 



114 SHIVERTON SHAKES. 

«I know it," replied Shakes, with a sigh ; "it never 
did do, and I don't think it's going to do. But what am 
I to do ?" 

"Do! where's the difficulty? — do hke other people — ■ 
do like me — do, and don't be done. I tell you what it 
is. Shakes, there's a double set of principles in this world, 
one of which is to talk about, and the other to act upon — ■ 
one is preached, and the other is practised. You've got 
hold, somehow, of the wrong set — the set invented by 
the knowing ones, to check competition and to secure all 
the good things for themselves. That's the reason people 
are always praising modest merit, while they are pushing 
along without either the one or the other. You always 
let go, when anybody's going to take your place at table — 
you always hold back, when another person's wanting the 
last of the nice things on the dish. That's not the way — 
bow and nod and show your teeth with a fascination, but 
take what you want for all that. This is manners — • 
knowing the world. To be polite, is to have your own 
way gracefully — other people are delighted at your style 
— you have the profit." 

"But I'm ashamed — what would people think?" 

" Why, Shiverton Shakes, if you only learn to under- 
stand the hocus pocus of it, they'll think of you just what 
you wish them to think. Don't be afraid of other people 
— other people is a goose. Hav'n't you found that out 
yet ? Who is ever afraid of people when he knows them 
well — lives in the same house with them ? You're not 
afraid of Mrs. Fitzgig ; you're not afraid of me — you're 
not afraid of the washerwoman — not much afraid, even 
when you owe her for the last quarter. Confidence is 
only carrying out the principle — look upon everybody 
as me, or Mrs. Fitzgig, or the washerwoman. That's 
the way to do. As for your not knowing people, it 
amounts to nothinj^ — it's often an advantaoje — for then 



SHIVERTON SHAKES. 



115 



you may fairly conclude they don't know you. How are 
battles gained? Because the party who run away, don't 
know that their enemies were just about to do the same 
thing— they don't know that their opponents were as 
much scared as themselves. Look bluff, and the day's 
your own. Nobody sees beyond appearances." 

"Yes, but I can't do as you advise— I think I can 
sometimes, when no person's by ; but when I come to 
try it, I can't— I feel so— my heart bumps so— my tongue's 
so dry, and I always tumble over things and tread on 
somebody's toe. Fm sure to tread on somebody's toe." 
" Shiverton, you're a melancholy victim to the errors 
of education and the wrong set of principles, or you 
wouldn't tread on other people's toes — not so they'd 
know it, even if you had to step over their heads. If 
you only understand how, you can do what you please. 
The style is all. Ah," continued Dashoff Uptosnuff, fall- 
ing into a philosophic reverie, "what a world of blunders 
is this ! They've got free schools and high schools, and 
universities and colleges,--they learn to cipher— to read 
languages — to understand mathematics and all sorts of 
things— comparatively useless things— but who is taught 
confidence— that neat kind of confidence which don't look 
like confidence— who is taught to converse, when in that 
lies all the civil engineering of life, which shaves the 
mountain from our path, tunnels the rocks and lifts us to 
the top of the social Alleghanies ? Who learns at school 
how to make a bow, or to get a wife with a hundred 
thousand dollars or upwards? Where, in short, is that 
professorship which shows us the road to success, and in- 
dicates how we are to live without work, the great secret 
at which we are all struggling to arrive ? As things are 
managed now, we are soldiers sent to the battle before 
we have learned to tell one end of our muskets from the 
other ; and before we have discovered where to insert the 



116 SHIVERTON SHAKES. 

load and where to place the priming, the war is over and 
we are among the killed, wounded and missing. Is'nt 
it doleful?" 

"Very," said Shiverton, mournfully. 

" Well, now, for my part, I don't see the trouble," said 
Mrs. Fitzgig; "why can't a rnan buck up?" 

" Nor I," added Miss Jemima Fitzgig, who wanted to 
be Mrs. something. <« It is the easiest thing in the world 
to get along, especially among ladies," and she glanced 
tenderly at Mr. Dashoff Uptosnuff. 

"You must make an effort, Shiverton — one plunge and 
all will be over — go to Marygold's determined on bold- 
ness. Sooner or later, you must begin. It is impossible 
to dodge in this way for ever." 

What a happy thing it would be if the determination" 
were the achievement — if " I will" were the consumma- 
tion — if, by one potent screw upon the organ of firmness, 
the little troop of faculties which make up our identity, 
could be wheeled into the unshrinking and impenetrable 
Macedonian phalanx, and if there could be no uneasy in- 
tervention of doubtful thoughts between the firm resolve 
and its execution. 

" I will," said Shiverton, and he did. 

* * m *^ * * * 

He did — but how? Let us not anticipate. Let as 
sooner pause before ringing up for the catastrophe of this 
painful drama, and rather seek metaphysically to know 
why it was a painful history and why it had a catastrophe 
— why any of us have catastrophes — for catastrophe is 
not necessary to our nature. If the faculties were in 
equipoise, we should never fall — Shiverton Shakes would 
not have fallen. We are, to a certain extent, rope- 
dancers here below — Seiltanzers — HerrClines; and there 
is truth in the Mahoramedan supposition that we cross the 
gulf upon a bridge finer than a hair. Any internal force, 



SHIVERTON SHAKES. 117 

therefore, in excess or in deficiency, swerves us from the 
right Une, and we run the risk of being impinged upon 
an adverse catastrophical circumstance, having the me- 
lancholy preferment of serving to point a moral and adorn 
a tale. Our vices are our virtues running to riot and 
pushing into the extreme, and all human impulses are 
good, in subordination and in their place. It is their 
morbid, unwholesome condition which makes our trouble. 
There is no sinfulness in thirst, if the proper means are 
used to quench it ; nor is ambition unholy, if it only seeks 
honourable and useful distinction among men. Acquisi- 
tiveness is derided ; but a subdued acquisitiveness is 
requisite, if we would not be a burden to our friends and 
subject old age to the degradation of being a charge upon 
the public purse. Even anger — the combativeness and 
destructiveness of modern definition — is essential to our 
well-being, as a defensive means, and that the oppressor 
may fear to set his heavy foot upon us. We are, in 
short, good people enough in the constituents of our in- 
dividuality — all the materials are respectable in them- 
selves ; it is the quantity of each which causes the dis- 
turbance. Too much courage makes the bully — too little 
shrinks into the coward. A modicum of self-esteem in- 
duces us to scorn meanness — with too large a share, our 
pride becomes an insult and an outrage. The love of 
approval gives amiability to our deportment ; but it may 
run into perking vanity and ambling affectation. Happy 
they <' whose blood and judgment are so well com- 
mingled,'' that they can march with a steady step and 
have no reason for pausing analysis to learn why they 
stumble. 

Now the psychological ship of Shakes — the vessel 
which carried this Ceesar and his fortunes — was defective 
in its trim — the ballast was badly stowed — too much by 
the head or too much something else, which prevented 



118 SHIVERTON SHAKES. 

it from working " shipshape and Bristol fashion." His 
deference to " other people" had been nourished to an 
extent which cast a destructive shadow over his other 
faculties, and his firmness and self-reliance had probably 
left hollows in his pericranium. But it was not altogether 
that he placed no sufficient estimate upon himself — there 
were times — times apart — times of retiracy, when he felt 
" as good as you" — perhaps better, and it may be that it 
was an overweening desire to fill out his fancy sketch of 
himself — to be a sublime Shakes — the embodiment of 
his own conception — which gave such paralyzing force 
to the eye of the observer — that "Mrs. Grundy" whose 
criticism we all fear, more or less, and made him either 
shrink from the effort, or fail miserably when he did ven- 
ture on the attempt. Was it at all thus with Shakes ? 
There are such apparent contradictions in humanity. 
But who is " clairvoyant" enough to penetrate into the 
mental council-chamber, and discover what we scarce 
know ourselves ? 



It was cold and dark, but yet a man in a cloak walked 
uneasily up and down the street. Lights beamed from 
the ^vindows and carriages drove up to the door of a man- 
sion, upon which his earnest regards seemed to be fixed. 

" Now, I will," said he, pausing under the trees ; " no, 
not yet — I can wait a little while longer. 

"I wish it was to-morrow, or some time next week," 
muttered he. "I wish I was a chimney-sweep, for they 
are all a-bed — I wish I was that limping fellow with a 
bad cold, crying oysters — he don't wear white kids — I 
almost wish I had an attack of apoplexy, and somebody 
was rolling me along on a wheelbarrow. 

" Now for it!" and he dashed desperately up the steps 
and seized the bell-handle with unflinching fingers — but 



SHIVERTON SHAKES. 119 

he did not pull— like the renowned " King of France," 
he walked gently down again. 

« I think I should like a little hot whisky punch," 
sio-hed he ; " very strong whisky, and remarkable hot 

punch." 

It is an anti-temperance weakness, no doubt ; but still 
there are passages in most men's lives when they feel t\u) 
very want expressed by Shiverton Shakes — when they 
would " like a punch"— a strong punch— to make them 
go. But such punches are apt to become bad punches — 
to punch out one's brains. If you cannot get along with- 
out punch, you had better not go at all. 

u But no— who's afraid ?— Uptosnuff will laugh if I 
don't — here goes !" and the bell rang loudly. 

Shiverton Shakes had committed an error— nothing 
daunts a man of his infirmity more than unaccustomed 
garments. One who is at ease in a familiar coat, feels 
embarrassed in a new dress. Shakes had caused his hair 
to be curled — it pulled in every direction. His white 
gloves were rather of the tightest — his satin stock had 
not yet the hang of his neck— his pumps uncomfortably 
usurped the place of his expanded boots — his coat had 
only come home that afternoon. He had practised to 
dance, but it was not a full dress rehearsal. His white 
w^aistcoat and his snowy gloves were ever in his eye ; 
he saw himself continually, and there is nothing worse 
than to see one's self, under circumstances of restraint — 
to be reminded all the time that yourself is there. Shiver- 
ton had that species of consciousness which poetic souls 
have attributed to the poker. He felt Uke a catapult, 
without hinge or joint. He was cold at the extremi- 
ties. 

"If nobody knew me, I wouldn't care so much," 

quoth he. 
34 



120 SHIVERTON SHAKES. 

But Uptosnuff was unexpectedly there — there before 
him. 

" Now, Shiverton — your respects to the hostess — grace- 
ful and rather affectionate." 

*< I wish he hadn't said that," growled Shiverton, as 
he made his way, as if travelling on eggs, through the 
gayly dressed throng to Mrs. Marygold, who stood in all 
the splendors of matronly embellishment. 

" Mrs. Marygold — I'm very — how d'ye — hope you 're 
— good evening — how's — yes, ma'am," ejaculated Shi- 
verton, spasmodically. 

'' Ah, ha ! Shiverton ! rejoiced to see you," said Mr. 
Marygold, a jocular gentleman, with a mulberry nose ; 
"got over your bashfulness, I suppose." 

" Ye — e — s," responded Shiverton, with a mechanical 
effort at a smile, in which the mouth went into attitude, 
curving toward the ears, while the rest of the face kept 
its rigid, stony appearance. 

" Glad of it — plenty of pretty girls here — come, let me 
make you acquainted." 

" No, thank you — I'd rather — " 

"Now's your time, Shiverton," whispered Uptosnuff, 
" keep it up — don't flinch." 

" Mr. Shakes, bashful Mr. Shakes, Miss Simpkins — 
very desirous of dancing with you. Didn't you say so ?" 
observed the jocular Mr. Marygold. 

"No — yes — I — oh! — very — it's getting warm," and 
Shiverton Shakes sat forcibly down upon the elderly Mrs. 
Peachblossom, who shrieked aloud, while Shakes sprang 
up with amazement : "just as I expected — right on some- 
body's toe!" 

" Never mind — persevere," whispered Uptosnuff. 
" Nobody's hurt. Now be bold — it's much easier than 
being timid." 

" I will," said Shiverton, drawing down his waist- 



SHIVERTON SHAKES. 121 

coat ; " I will — keep near me, but don't look at me — " 
and Shiverton led his partner to the dance, resolved at 
all hazards to try the advice of his friend. But when the 
dance began, he suddenly felt as if ten thousand eyes were 
upon him — his little knowledge of the subject, picked up 
" long time ago," deserted from his memory. It was all 
confusion, and every attempt to guide his erratic steps 
made the confusion worse confounded. " Now, Mr. 
Shakes" — " there, Mr. Shakes," and " here, Mr. Shakes," 
only served to mystify his perceptions still more deeply, 
as, driven to desperate courses, he danced frantically 
about, in the vain hope that lucky chance might put him 
upon that undiscovered and apparently undiscoverable 
clue to the labyrinth, to which, it was plain, direction 
could not lead him. 

" Whew ! — UptosnufT," panted Shiverton, during a 
prelude to a new complication of dance and suffering, — 
when the tamborine rang out, and when the yellow man 
in ear-rings was evidently inhaling volumes of the atmo- 
sphere, to aid him in calling figures in that as yet unknown 
tongue and untranslated language which dancers alone 
comprehend. " Uptosnuff, I can 't stand this — what 
shall I do ?" 

" I cannot tell — did you ever try to faint ?" replied 
UptosnufT. 

"Yah-yay — doo yandleming foo-yay!" shouted the 
yellow man in ear-rings. 

" Jang-jingle — r-a-a-n-g foodie," said the tamborine. 

" Shaw- shay !" 

If Shiverton could have reached the yellow man, there 
would have been an end to the ear-rings ; but as this 
was out of the question, he shut his eyes and set his arms 
and legs in action "\njith an unlimited power of attorney, 
and, though he went many ways, it happened, with a 
perversity peculiar to Terpsichorean tyros, that he never 



122 SHIVERTON SHAKES. 

hit upon the right way, at the right time ; for, in these 
matters, the right soon becomes wrong. 

The company began to gather round, to witness this 
extraordinary and extemporaneous performance. 

" Ton my soul, if I don't think it 's animal magnetism," 
remarked a scientific looking individual, with a bald head 
and green spectacles. He 's mesmerized — he 's under 
the influence of the fluid." 

" I wish I was," thought Shiverton, as he bounded 
like a kangaroo, catching his rearward foot in the flowing 
robes of Miss Simpkins, and oversetting the " one lady 
forward," as he himself came lumbering to the floor. 

All was chaos. 

" Intoxicated !" 

" Insane!" 

" Insufferable !" 

"Infamous!" 

" Satisfaction !" said whiskers. 

Shiverton scrambled to his feet, and stared wildly 
around. 

'' Shiverton Shakes, I never could have believed that 
you would have come to my house, in such a condition," 
said Mrs. Marygold, in awful tones. 

" Shiverton Shakes, I 've done with you for ever," said 
the old gentleman. 

" My friend will wait on you in the morning," remarked 
whiskers. 

" Beat a retreat, Shiverton — you're Waterloo'd," hint- 
ed Uptosnuff. " Sauve qui pent It's too late to faint 
now — why didn't you lie still, to be picked up ?" 

Shiverton charged like a conscript of the French re- 
public, without much science, but with inflexible will, at 
what he thought to be an open door — it was a costly 
mirror ; but, though a deceptive appearance, it did not 
" take him in" — he rebounded, amid the crash of glass. 



SHIVERTON SHAKES. 123 

Shrieks of dismay arose on every side ; but Shiverton, 
having now a clearly defined object in view, « bent up 
each corporal agent to this terrible feat," and overthrew 
all impediment, including stout Mrs. Marygold and sundry 
other obstacles which were in the way of his recoil, to 
say nothing of John with the refreshments, who was thus 
deluged in lemonade, and the cabman at the door, who 
was summarily taught how to execute a backward sum- 
merset down a flight of steps. 

Shiverton reached home, breathless, hatless, cloakless, 
and in despair — a melancholy example of the perilous 
consequences of endeavouring to " assume a virtue, if you 
have it not." 

" A man must be brought up to it," soliloquized Shi- 
verton, when he had recovered coolness enough to think, 
^nd had kicked his kid gloves indignantly into a corner ; 
« at least, I 'm sure that this spontaneous combustion sort 
of way of going at it, will never answer for me. If I 
could now, Uttle by little, just dip in a foot — wet my 
head — slide in gradually — become accustomed and ac- 
quainted by degrees, and not be spoken to or bothered at 
first — begin where I wasn't known, or where people don't 
laugh at every thing so confoundedly. But no — I'm 
done for — this blow up at Marygold's — I can never show 
my head again," and he buried himself in the blankets, 
as if he never more wished to be looked upon by the 
surrounding world. 

This was the first and last attempt of Shiverton Shakes 
to gain a footing in society. He held no more intercourse 
with Dash off Uptosnuff; for, although he admitted the 
correctness of that individual's theory, still he had an 
overwhelming consciousness of inability to carry it into 
effect. He bought him a turning lathe, and made knick- 
knacks in the long winter evenings, smoked cigars, and 
tried to read " Gibbon's Decline and Fall of the Roman 



124 SHIVERTON SHAKES. 

Empire." He would have liked to have a wife, but the 
process of getting one was too much for his nervous sen- 
sibilities ; so he dined at an ordinary and made his own 
tea and toast, being literally and truly an " unexpressed 
idea" — an undeveloped capability. 



THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 

We are deceived. There is not so much inequaUty of 
talent as the world supposes. From the earliest ages, 
there has been a conspiracy of caste, to blind and to mis- 
lead the mass of mankind, by giving a monopoly of fame 
to those who stand in certain positions. To all the rest, 
renown has been denied, and they have been content 
with a lot, not inevitable, but cunningly imposed ; and 
thus the world, at every period, has been converted into 
a crowd of '<■ stupid starers" — shouters for self-constituted 
idols, when, if the truth were known, thousands of those 
who submit to be lookers-on, and to be shut from the 
historic page altogether, not only possess genius equal to 
that of the hero, but, actually, albeit in an humbler field, 
give unhonoured manifestations of superior ability. The 
difference is, that one man is framed, gilded, and hung 
up against the wall, to be looked at and admired, while 
another plods along the dusty highway, without attract- 
ing notice. An accident has been wanting. A concur- 
rence of circumstances has brought about greatness in one 
instance, when, in the other, the individual did not hap- 
pen to be within range of the breeze of fortune at the 
proper moment ; and hence, his sails flap idly against the 
mast, while the happier ship proudly careers across the 
seas. Luck may not be a very euphonical word ; but 
there is much in luck. Instances of course arise, in 
which the individual has not the innate force to improve 
his luck, and is, therefore, rather overwhelmed than bene- 
fitted by it. If a man be crank, and lack ballast, he is 
swamped by the prosperous gale ; but there are many 
others who lag behind, only because they need the ex- 

125 



126 THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 

ternal impetus which has been fatal to him. If, then, 
any one stands before our eyes, sparkling with reputation 
and glittering with glory — like Gesler's cap upon a pole, 
to which all are required to bow — let us shade our eyes 
from the effulgence, and do honour rather to the luck, 
than to him who has been the subject of it. Let us en- 
quire whether it has been his o"#n strength of limb, or 
the brawny muscle of propitious fortune, which has 
borne him up the steep, and let us pay our respects 
accordingly. 

Glory, in the main, is a delusion. It is too often rather 
a concession on our part, than a merit in him to whom it 
is accorded. It is not so much the talent we admire, as 
the chance which gave room for its exliibition. The 
same elements of character might be at our side for a life- 
time, and receive no appreciation. It is only when they 
are successfully displayed in the arena peculiarly dedi- 
cated to glory, that our wonder is moved. The dexterity 
of a Talleyrand may retail dry goods, but who writes the 
history of him that wields a yard-stick ? The strategic 
talent of a Napoleon may be evinced in robbing the 
" watermillion" patches of New Jersey ; but where is the 
O'Meara to note the sayings of one who expiates his 
offences in a county jail ? Humanity is unjust to itself. 
If genius be the thing to be admired, why should it com- 
mand our homage more readily when attired in feathers 
and embroidery, than when skulking in rags and tatters ? 
Are the constituents of heroism less worthy when their 
owner is in the hands of a constable, than when he is in- 
carcerated in an island prison like St. Helena ? Never 
credit it. We are fools to our false views and erroneous 
estimates. We are struck by the circumstance, and not 
by the essential. The ragamuffin's head has not been 
adorned with a laurel wreath — he never, perhaps, caused 
an illumination, except when dragged from his thieving 



THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 127 

ambush in the coal-hole, by the light of a single candle ; — 
but analyze his actions, put his motives and his achieve- 
ments into the crucible of philosophic reflection, and then 
determine whether, in a happier sphere, he would not 
have stolen " crowns" where he now filches shiUings, 
and have appropriated empires, instead of «' hooking" 
boots from an entry. Is it not true, then, that we esteem 
the lucks and chances of a man, much more than we 
reverence the man himself? Why, even when hero 
meets hero, he receives the applause who carries off the 
victory, when it is plainly apparent that accident alone 
was decisive of the conflict. A chance shot disables the 
frigate, — the bugler is killed, and does not call " boarders 
to repel boarders,"— an aid-de-camp fails to convey 
orders, — a Grouchy does not bring up the reserve in 
time, — the success is determined by some petty failure in 
the details of a masterpiece of skill, and he is hailed the 
great one who stumbles into triumph. Bhnd luck draws 
the bow-string round the neck of genius, and the goose 
pecks out the eyes of the eagle. 

The same injustice prevails throughout. Why should 
familiarity breed contempt, but that we have what may 
be called a proclivity to humbug — a disposition to be 
deceived ? And yet it will always be found, that no man 
is a hero to his valet-de-chambre — no, nor to his wife, his 
children, or his friends, except in some rare instances. 
Who can believe that Peter, by our side, — Peter, whom 
we have known from childhood upwards, — Peter, whom 
we have rebuked, rebuffed and perhaps cuffed, — who can 
think that Peter is a genius ? And why not Peter ? — who 
is inevitably better than Peter ? Warriors and statesmen ? 
They were not born warriors and statesmen. They were 
once litde Peters, probably Peters not so promising as 
yours. Scurvy little Peters, crying on the stairs — re- 
buked, rebuffed and cuffed, no doubt, like him. But we 



128 THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 

know Peter — ^know him too well, and seem to lose the 
power of appreciation by that intimate knowledge ; and in 
this respect, as in all others, it is distance and ignorance 
combined, which creates our astonishment. Thus it is, 
indeed, that they err, who wish to see the great ones 
close at hand ; and thus the great ones err, who suffer 
themselves unnecessarily to be seen close at hand. He 
who really desires to enjoy the enchantment of the drama, 
is not wise in thrusting himself behind the scenes. The 
tyrant does not become more awful, when it is observed 
that his portentous moustache and terrific eye-brow are the 
product of a burnt cork ; nor are the dancing-girls a whit 
more full of fascination, when it appears that their roseate 
blushes are the quintessence of |^rick-dust. And what 
literary lion is there, in the long list of those who have 
visited our shores, who did not lose his mane by the ad- 
venture ? — who did not sink in public estimation, and 
gradually decline from the majesty of a quadruped, into 
the ordinary two-legged condition of the indigenous man ? 
Where, in fact, is the exception ? Not one. Familiarity 
is the "Lion King." It reduces all such rampant crea- 
tures to the mere household standard, and puts them to 
sleep before the fire. 

But all these things are nevertheless wrong. Genius 
is genius, whether the chance be afforded or not ; — it is 
still genius, and the same genius, whether its field be 
small or great ; — it is genius, notwithstanding, however 
close it may be in our intimacy, and the truth of our pre- 
lude may be demonstrated in all its branches, by a slight 
recurrence to the history of " The Boys that run with the 
Engine." 

They are but imperfect observers of human nature, who 
look abroad and look upwards, to note character in its 
more striking developments. If their study is man, the 
true materials for research are best found close at hand. 



THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 129 

History is a falsifier. All actions, when viewed from a 
distance, are seen through a distorting medium. The 
so-called chronicles of the times, are but the mirage of 
the desert, in which the parties represented often appear 
upside down, one swelling to a gigantic stature, while 
another dwindles to dwarfish proportions. Motives are 
mistaken and results are exaggerated, and he who hopes, 
in this way, to arrive at knowledge through the medium 
of written records, must, by dint of preparatory study on 
the living subject, have learned to separate the reality 
from the fictitious. Cabinets and camps are well enough, 
to be sure, if we are on our guard against the deceptive 
glare which is almost invariably thrown around them — 
if w^e are gifted with that rare discrimination which con- 
siders the man himself, and not his embroidery ; but, in 
the generality of cases, it is our weakness to regard as 
fine birds, all poultry which has been lucky enough to 
trig itself out in fine feathers, and hence we are led into 
errors innumerable, — our swans are geese, and the tur- 
key is often degraded to the rank of a buzzard. If, how- 
ever, we turn from courts and camps and cabinets, to the 
engine houses of a great metropolis, we shall there find 
action, and the springs to action, — action as energetic, 
and the springs to action as forcible, as are to be seen 
any where, — laid open to our view, without gilding and 
without guile. Here is manhood in its opening flower, 
— in the summer morning of its restlessness. The un- 
trimmed colt of aspiring ambition prances upon this plain ; 
a colt which may hereafter be the war-horse, with his 
neck clothed in thunder — a more striking adornment, 
as must readily be admitted, than even one of Tennent's 
best fitting stocks, in all the glory of shining satin. 
Diplomacy may perhaps be expanding in this group, 
little restrained by the weak embraces of a thread-bare 
jacket, and, by its side, stands that emulation, which 
153 



130 THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 

may lead to the pinnacle of fame, though at present con- 
tent with carrying a torch, with bearing the massive 
weight of a branch-pipe, with having the head of a rope, 
or with having the hand of control upon the tongue of 
the carriage. All propelling qualities are developed 
here, and " the boys that run with the engine" have 
within them every faculty necessary, in a more polished 
condition, for the conduct of an empire. 

And it is for these reasons, that "the boys that run 
with the engine," are deemed worthy of being sketched 
by the cunning hand of the artist, and of having their 
mental characteristics pourtrayed in an essay especially 
devoted to the subject. Fastidious refinement may turn 
its head aside in scorn, to luxuriate upon the historical 
novel or the metaphysical romance, to contemplate repre- 
sentations of man as he is not, and of woman as she ought 
not to be ; but these things are passing away, and it is to 
be the glory of our time to " catch the manners living as 
they rise," — to look upon nothing as beneath its no- 
tice which contributes to modify the dispositions of the 
age. 

Who, let us ask, is more of a "feature" in the coun- 
tenance of the times, as they exist hereabouts, than these ju- 
venile Rosicrucians — these Ghebers — ^these modern Fire- 
worshippers ? Who stand out more prominently on the 
face of things than they who, by night and by day, sweep 
like the wind along the streets, and, by their obstreperous 
clamour, prevent even echo from indulging in a protracted 
nap ? Who are more active, more courageous, more 
constantly on the alert, — who make more noise in the 
world, or force their way more readily through every 
obstruction, causing all people and all things to give way 
before them, than " the boys that run with the engine ?" 
Who are more frequently heard, more often felt, or more * 
continually seen than these skimmers of the street, and 



THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 131 

are they not to find a place in the portraiture of the period ? 
It would be a gross dereliction of duty to suffer them to 
pass unheeded. 

The "spirit of fire," which early seizes upon a con- 
siderable portion of the youth of cities, is so far from 
being properly subject to those who have that hmited 
species of control over them, which is accorded to parents 
and guardians, that perhaps it may be said, there is no 
other branch of insubordination which causes so much 
trouble and uneasiness. To the " boss," whose appren- 
tices have reached the state of development necessary for 
the reception of the fever, an alarm of fire is a perfect 
horror — not because his sympathies with the probable 
sufferer are excessive — not because he mourns over the 
ragings of the destructive element ; but because he knows 
that, under such circumstances, his authority is neutral- 
ized and negatived — that his influence is so far gone that 
" moral suasion" will not keep his boys to their work, 
and that, if he expects that the shop is not to be left to 
take care of itself, he must prevent its depopulation by 
bringing the strong arm in play. To lock the door is 
not sufficient, while windows remain practicable, and 
even should the windows be hermetically sealed, egress 
by the chimney would not be thought too much of a feat 
to meet the call of paramount duty. Should the alarm 
come in the night, it is in vain that the " old man" — ail 
superiors are " old men," in modern phraseology, and our 
standing in that respect is measured by rank, not years — 
has made all fast and gone chuckling to bed, with the key 
under his pillow. He forgets that sheds and fences and 
out-houses are as available to intrepidity as a staircase, and 
that " the boy that runs with the engine" can travel over 
the exterior of a house with as little embarrassment as if 
the laws of gravitation exercised no influence over him — 
that, with his jacket under his arm and his boots slung 



132 THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 

about his neck, no denizen of the forest can run up per- 
pendiculars more cleverly than he ; and, while the afore- 
said " boss" notes the heavy eyes and nodding heads 
which hang during the day so hstlessly over their task, 
he never arrives at the true secret until he discovers that 
" there was a fire last night." Little did he dream — 
poor unsuspicious soul ! — when the midnight bell struck 
on his ear, and he turned him again to sleep, after ascer- 
taining the key to be safe in its snug position — that Tom 
and Dick and Ben, and all the rest, were off in triumph, 
and that the energies which should have been expended 
in his service, according to the articles of apprenticeship, 
had been exhausted in extinguishing far distant flames. 
He never thought that those hoarse yells, which broke his 
rest with momentary dismay, emanated from most familiar 
voices, nor that the unintelligible, but none the less fear- 
ful on that account, " waugh-baugh-wulla-balloo !" which 
sounded so dreadfully before his door, mingled with the 
clanging of the bell and the fitful glancing of torches, was 
a derisive cry, uttered for his especial edification, by one 
of those whom he believed still to be slumbering in the 
garret. Nor when at breakfast time, he told the lads how 
loud was the alarm last night, and how the signal indi- 
cated that the danger lay " nor- west," did he mark the 
cunning wink which stole from eye to eye, in mockery 
of the ignorance that would give them information upon 
a subject so familiar. Why the lads are all so harsh in 
their tones, he cannot imagine, unless it be that the influ- 
enza is about ; but he does think that the variety of soil 
upon their boots, indicates the fact of more previous travel 
than he was aware of At such times also, there are apt 
to be unaccountable deficiencies in the quantity of cold 
provisions in the cellar, which are scarcely to be attributed 
to the gastronomic performances of a single cat. The 
amateur fireman, on the return from service, is apt tiy 



THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 133 

feel the calls of appetite, and as he is, as it were, a prin- 
ciple essential to the well-being of real estate, he takes 
due care to nourish himself accordingly. 

The learned may not perhaps have taken due cogni- 
sance of the fact, but, in some divisions of knowledge, 
the extent of information obtained by " the boys that run 
with the engine," is well calculated to move our wonder. 
The amount of their acquaintance with local topography, 
qualifies them to write articles for the Encyclopedia. 
Not a court, lane or alley — not a hole nor a corner, in the 
vast circumference of the town, which is not considerably 
more familiar to them than a glove. They are the Plu- 
tarchs of fire-plugs, knowing the history of each, and the 
comparative merits of all. At every conflagration within 
their experience, they can tell what engines were in ser- 
vice, what hose companies had " attachments," and how 
many feet of hose were brought in play — who was earliest 
on the ground, and obtained the most effective position, 
with many other particulars with which the world, greatly 
to its disadvantage, is never likely to become conversant. 
If it were the nature of "the boys" to write, the annals 
of the parish, as they would record them, could not fail 
to form a whole library in itself 

On the score of emulation too, these lads are not to be 
surpassed by the most ambitious of ancient or modern 
times. Other people are regardful of creature comforts. 
They will break away from the most interesting employ- 
ment, because dinner is ready, or because the hour has 
come when they are in the habit of imbibing tea. When 
the time arrives for going to bed, they cease from their 
labours and get them to repose. They are slaves to 
routine, and must travel continually in the accustomed 
circle, or they are wretched in proportion to the extent to 
which they have deviated ; but it is not so with " the 
boys that run with the engine." The eccentricity is their 



l34 THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 

delight. Rest, sleep, food, are nothing to them when 
weighed in the balance with the pleasure of dragging a 
heavy machine through the mud ; and, that they may be 
first at the engine house, they have often been known, on 
the frostiest night, to leap from their warm couches, 
rushing forth with their garments in a bundle, to dress 
when they had reached their destination. Can disinter- 
estedness, generous emulation and glowing ambition, 
attain a more exalted climax than this ? It does not lie 
within the range of possibility, and the higher value will 
be affixed to it, when it is remembered that many of 
these " young youths" have quite another character in the 
more ordinary affairs of life. In matters of mere domestic 
concernment, they who will labour so strenuously in the 
cause of the engine, are, in frequent instances, found to be 
in no way addicted to excessive exertion. A night alarm 
will draw those from their beds, who are not easily en- 
ticed therefrom at the call of business; and the most 
lethargic lounger that ever dozed when he should have 
been waking, or that ever skulked when work was at 
hand, will cheerfully encounter any toil, if it happen to be 
connected with the duties of the hose house. 

The leading characteristic, however, of the class to 
which we refer, is valour — enterprise, energy and va- 
lour. Where could a nobler combination be discovered ? 
Next to a fire, the most glorious object to their view, is 
a fight. But when both unite — when a fight is found at 
a fire, and when the fire lights the way to a fight, who 
are happier than " the boys that run with the engine ?" 
And reason good, if it be true that martial heroism is a 
matter worthy of our aspirations. The elements of war 
conjoin. The flames crackle — the fierce hurrah goes up 
— L'olumns charge — the heavy artillery comes lumbering 
through the press — shrieks, groans, imprecations and de- 
nunciations, are mingled thick with blows and thrusts. 



THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 135 

The glittering trumpet takes the place of the flashing 
sabre, and quick as lightning, cuts " six" upon the head 
and shoulders of the foe, stretching him senseless in the 
kennel. The massive " spanner" makes short work of 
the stoutest tarpaulin, and though the combatants may 
long for the bullet, yet those who have had much expe- 
rience in the force of projectiles, have discovered that but 
for the name of the thing, brickbats are likely to answer 
just as well. All the joy of conflict is called forth in 
such a field. It is not the distant and cold-blooded cour- 
tesy of scientific manoeuvre, where legs usurp the prerog- 
ative of arms — it is the forlorn hope, the escalade, the 
storm, the hand-to-hand engagement, developing " the 
worth of the individual" and giving scope to personal 
prowess — this is what invests it with fascination for the 
engine boy ; and what more could be accomplished, even 
at a Waterloo, than to be picked up for dead and carried 
home on a shutter ? The essentials of glory are every 
one attainable in such a struggle, and it is but that short- 
sightedness on the part of the world, to which we have 
already alluded, which prevents the proper distribution 
of praise. It is true that the scarred veteran obtains no 
pension to compensate for his knocks ; but does that argue 
that they did not smart as much as wounds that are better 
paid for ? The victor receives neither title nor riband ; 
but, in all likelihood, he has been quite as cruel, brutal and 
oppressive, to the extent of the opportunity, as if he were 
honoured with both. 

In all associations, whether of men, boys or sheep, 
there is invariably a bell-wether — a master spirit ; one 
who affords colour to their modes of thought, and furnishes 
aim for their actions — who warms their spirit when their 
courage flags — who lends them enterprise when they 
falter, and gives concentration to their eflTorts. In an ex- 
tended sphere, such individuals bestow character on na- 
35 



136 THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 

tions and on ages, leaving their impress upon all, and, in 
a more confined circle, the personal stamp, though not so 
"widely spread, is made with equal distinctness. In the 
group which forms the subject of our story, such a one 
will be seen in the person of Hickey Hammer, — he who 
leans against the wall, with club in hand and with a most 
majestic sternness in his countenance — he, with the game- 
cock look all over him — he, whose combativeness and 
destructiveness are so prominent as to render it unavoid- 
able to wear his hat aslant, that, on one side at least, these 
organs may be comparatively cool, to ensure safety to his 
friends — he, Hickey Hammer, who has fierceness enough 
in his composition to furnish a whole menagerie, and yet 
leave sufficient surplus to animate and constitute a war- 
rior. Were there ample swing for Hickey Hammer — 
had we the delights of civil war, or the charms of a revo- 
lution, there would be one more added to the list of 
heroes, and another picture would figure in the print shops. 
But as it is, Hickey contrives to find some vent for his 
inspiration, by getting up a quarrel about once a day, and 
nourishing it into a genial combat — otherwise, he would 
explode from the attrition of his own fiery spirits. Hickey 
Hammer " runs with the engine," because it goes to fight 
fire, and he almost wishes that he were a bucket of water, 
to grapple more directly with so fierce a foe. So irre- 
sistible is his call to contend, that he is obliged to gratify 
it, whether there be an object present or not. When he 
goes to bed at night, or when he rises in the morning, the 
exercise of his muscles is an invariable concomitant. 
He strikes the air, parries imaginary blows, and passes 
through all the action of a "heady fight," with an energy 
that is really alarming. Every door in the house bears 
the imprint of his loiuckles, and the very tables are splin- 
tered bv the weight of his fist. The " cocked hat" is to 
him the beau ideal of shapes, and he labours to knock all 




"In the group which forms the subject of our story, such a one will be seen 
in the persou of Hickey Hammer-he who leans against the wall, with club 
in hand and with a most majestic sternness in his countenance." 

Book III, page, 136. 



THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 137 

things into that antiquated resemblance. Should old time 
venture within reach of his arm, the existing moment 
would at once be converted, by a similar process, into 
" the middle of next week." 

It will be seen that one of his devoted admirers is en- 
deavouring to tell him a story about a Mr. Tompkins, 
who had recently distinguished himself at a fire, and that 
Hickey Hammer listens with his usual scornful impa- 
tience. 

"Tompkins!" said Hickey, on the occasion referred 
to ; " well, and who is Tompkins, your great Tompkins ? 
Now I'll bring this thing to a pint at once ; for when 
there's so much talk, there's never a bit of fight." 

"I didn't say any thing about fight," was the trem- 
bling remonstrance of the admirer. 

"But you cracked Tompkins up, didn't you, and 
Tompkins pretends to be great shakes, don't he ? What's 
that but fight, I should hke to know ? Now the thing, 
as I said before, is just this, and no more than 
this. I don't pretend to be much ; but can Tompkins 
lick me? Could he Hck me any way, fair stand up 
and no closing in, or could he do it, rough and tumble 
and no letting up ? Talking about people is nonsense — 
this is the how, to find out what a chap is good for. 
Fetch on your Tompkins, and tie my right hand behind 
me, if you like—that's all— yes, and he shall have six 
cracks at me before I begin. I'm not particular about 
odds. When you see this Tompkins, tell him so, and 
ask if he or his big brother, if he has got one, or any of 
the family, boss and all, would like to knock a chip off* 
my hat any afternoon. I'll clear them of the law. 1 
want them to do it — I'd give 'em something if they'd 
do it. Just feel my arm — hickory and gum logs ! Talk 
of your Tompkinses ! Who did they ever lick ? I don't 
even beheve they were ever taken up because they were 



138 THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 

going to fight. Only wait till there's an alarm some 
Sunday, and then show me Tompkins, if you want to see 
a man forget what he had for dinner." 

In fact, Hickey Hammer considers himself sent here on 
a special mission, to accommodate all customers, and 
whenever he hears of a new comer, his first inquiry is 
as to the individual's appreciation of his own prowess — 
whether, like Tompkins, " he thinks he can lick Hickey 
Hammer." If he does think so, and ventures to say so, 
why, Mr. Hammer sees to it that the difference of opinion 
may be settled on the spot. So great is his love of truth, 
that he cannot bear to leave any one in error upon a 
point of such interest and importance. Had Hammer 
lived in earlier times, he would have been the very flower 
of chivalry — at present, he only rejoices in the distinction 
of being " a bird." 

When squabbles are scarce and riots are a little out of 
fashion, such events being somewhat epidemic, Mr. 
Hammer, following the example of other great men, 
makes the circumstance to suit himself, and, gathering a 
flock of pupils and proselytes around him, often sets forth 
on what he calls the "grand rounds." This process con- 
sists in taking an evening ramble from one engine house 
to another, to have a glance at the collection of boys 
there assembled ; for each establishment has its separate 
set of votaries, who believe that all virtue resides in their 
gang, and that all excellence is combined in their engine. 
If there are enough present to render the scene impressive, 
Hickey Hammer sternly confronts the strangers, and, with 
a lowering aspect, thus addresses them : 

" Well, my lads, where's the bully?" 

" What bully?" is the natural response, from those who 
are yet to be indoctrinated into Mr. Hammer's mode of 
doing business. 

<4 1 want to see the bully of this company — ^)'ou've got 



THE BOYS THAT RUN WITH THE ENGINE. 139 

a bully, I suppose. Everybody says so. Where is he .? 
Tell him to come to supper," and, that there may be no 
mistake as to his meaning, Hickey throws himself into 
position, dealing forth experimental blows in the very 
face of the bystanders, so nicely calculated as to distance, 
that they are enabled to feel the "whiff and wind," with- 
out experiencing personal detriment, the insult being 
assault enough, though rather constructive than positive, 
and having no taint of battery. 

If a bully be forthcoming, which is not often the case 
upon an emergency so sudden and unexpected, the con- 
sequences are obvious. The combat either comes off at 
once, or is fixed for a more convenient spot and a subse- 
quent meeting. But, should the assailed party be with- 
out a champion, Hickey challenges any two, or more, if 
they like to undertake him, and this mode of proceeding 
generally results in a set-to all round, requiring a con- 
stabulary suppression, and furnishing material for many a 
tale of traditionary narrative, in which Hickey Hammer 
figures as the hero ; in consequence whereof, all " the 
boys that run with the engine," of which Hickey Ham- 
mer may be regarded as the patron, are Hickey Ham- 
merites in word and deed. They roll their trowsers up 
higher than other boys — they roar louder than other 
boys ; they take the engine out on Sundays, and, if they 
cannot get a fight in any other way, they dash deliberately 
into every "carriage" that passes. Rare boys are "the 
boys that run with the engine" — the choice and master- 
spirits of the time. 



JACK SPKATTE'S KEVENGE. 

A PISCATORIAL EPISODE. 

Do you know Mrs. Brownstout? Everybody ought 
to know Mrs. Brownstout ; for Mrs. Brownstout is in the 
market — not for sale — matrimonially speaking, her mar- 
ket was made long ago, and thence was derived the 
hearty appellation in which she rejoices. But, as she 
occupies a conspicuous stand in the Fish Market, it is 
therefore presumed that everybody knows Mrs. Brown- 
stout, who presides over the eventful destinies of shad 
and "pearch" and rockfish. That is, they know her 
" superfishally," if we may be allowed the expression — 
in her commodities and in her outward appearance. 
When she passes by, they possess that degree of acquaint- 
ance with her exterior, to enable them to say " there goes 
Mrs. Brownstout ;" and when she is seated at her stand — ■ 
strange perversity of human nature, that it is always sure 
to sit at its stand ! — people are positive that it is really 
Mrs. Brownstout. They recognise her by her gait, or 
by her costume, or by the piscatorial circumstances that 
surround her, which is about as much as the world in 
general knows of any body. But the moral Mrs. Brown- 
stout — the historical Mrs. Brownstout — the metaphysical 
Mrs. Brownstout — in short, the spiritual Mrs. Brownstout, 
as contra-distinguished from the apparent Mrs. Brown- 
stout, who merely sells her fishes and takes your money, 
why, what does society at large know of her? To the 
popular eye, she counts one in the sum total of humanity 
• — a particle, and nothing more, in the vast conglomera- 
tion of the breathing universe. There is no perception 
of her mental identity — her intellectual idiosyncrasy 
140 



JACK spratte's revenge. 141 

attracts no attention — her past and her future are not in- 
quired into — the Mrs. Brownstout retrospective, and the 
Mrs. Brownstout prospective, are equally disregarded, so 
that those ambitious of shad may find her to be the Mrs. 
Brownstout present ; and thus the life of this estimable 
lady, like the lives of most of us, is narrowed down to 
the single point of immediate action — she and we are 
important only w^hen it happens that our services are 
wanted. Our story — w^ho has not got a story ? — all our 
beings, doings and sufferings — our loves, hopes, successes 
and disappointments — all the trouble we have taken — the 
vexations w^e have endured — the triumphs we have 
achieved — who that encounters us in the street, ever thinks 
of them, or reflects that each of us, as we pass on our 
winding way, is a volume of exquisite experiences, bound 
in calf, and well worthy of the closest perusal ? Not one, 
of all the vast multitude which throngs the path ; and 
hence it is that the world, collectively considered, is more 
distinguished by folly than by wisdom, learning nothing 
from the problems that have already been solved, but 
preferring to stumble onward, from the beginning to the 
end, without borrowing a ray of hght from the lanterns of 
those who have gone before. 

But it has been resolved that Mrs. Brownstout shall not 
be sacrificed in this unceremonious manner — that some 
passages of her existence shall be snatched from oblivion, 
to amuse or instruct, as the case may be, at least a por- 
tion of those into whose hands our pages may be destined 
to fall. For Mrs. Brownstout, notwithstanding the ener- 
getic expression of the outward woman, has had her 
share of the disasters which seem inevitable to the suscep- 
tible temperament. She, too, has had her "trials of the 
heart," and has felt that though the poets seem to thmk 
that the sphere of young love's gambols is chiefly located 
"among the roses," he may yet exercise much potency 



142 JACK spratte's revenge. 

when playing among the fishes. There is no scale armour 
against the darts of Cupid, and, however steeled against 
such impressions the fair one may be, it is found, sooner 
or later, that she falls a prey to the tender passion. 

It is an admitted fact, made evident by repeated obser- 
vation, that this world is full of people — men people and 
women people — and that there are some among both, 
who set out and travel to a considerable distance on their 
earthly journey, upon the self-sustaining principle of 
celibacy, in a heroic effort not to be bothered widi ap- 
pendages, forgetting that, by a singular provision of 
nature, their proper condition is that of being bothered, 
and that, though they cannot see it, they must be bothered, 
to be at all comfortable. When we are alone, we are not 
bothered ; yet who likes to be alone ^ 

" fietter dwell in the midst of alarms, 
Than reign in this horrible place," 

said Selkirk, in default of the noise of children and of his 
wife's "alarms," and Selkirk had learned that stagnation 
is a tiresome piece of work. A few of those, to whom 
reference is made, protract their restless and uneasy ex- 
periment of trying to live a quiet unperplexed life, in 
which they are unquiet, and very much perplexed, until 
the period for all human experiment is over. But the 
great majority fail for lack of nerve, and retract, from a 
late discovery of the truth. Your Benedicks and Beatrices 
are almost sure to participate in the lot of those delineated 
by the first of dramatists — they are certain, somehow or 
other, to sink into the very calamity against which they 
formerly protested, and, in an unguarded hour, malignant 
fate deUghts to betray them to the common weakness. 

To some extent, it was the fortune of Mrs. Brownstout 
to be a living illustration of the truth of this principle. In 
her maiden days. Miss Felicia Phinney laughed at the 
importunities of her numerous admirers. Having early 



JACK spratte's revenge. 143 

gone into the fish business, she was confident in her own 
resources, and felt but little disposed to sink to a second- 
ary place in the firm ; and, therefore, " the gentlemen in 
waiting" each experienced a rebuff, so sharply adminis- 
tered, that they were but little disposed to put themselves 
again in the way of being similarly astonished — as she 
had a method of conducting herself little calculated to 
moUify the disappointment experienced upon such occa- 
sions. 

One night — it was a lovely night, during a warm spell 
which succeeded a '' cold snap," in the early part of the 
spring — shad were selling at seventy-five cents, and were 
scarce at that — the moon shone sweetly upon the chimney- 
tops — the fire-plugs, which were lucky enough to be on 
the north side of the street, were tinged and tinted with 
lines of fairy silver, and the beams of softened light played 
with romantic effect upon the craggy sides and rough 
fastnesses of the curb-stones. A balmy southern breeze 
sighed through the streets and loitered round the corners 
in lazy luxury, whispering soft nonsense in the ears of 
the somnolent Charleys, as they dreamily indulged in 
beatific visions of hot coffee and buckwheat cakes. All 
nature, including the brickbats and paving-stones, seemed 
to be wrapped in happy repose. The dogs barked not ; 
even the cats had ceased to be vocal, and when any of 
these nocturnal wanderers appeared, it was plain from 
their stealthy step and subdued deportment, that they, too, 
felt the influence of the hour, and were unwilHng to dis- 
turb the magnificent but tranquil harmony of the picture. 
It was, in short, a very fine night, particularly for the 
season, and, though used by the undiscriminating, many 
for the mere domestic purposes of snoring slumber, for 
which the coarser kind of night would answer just as well, 
yet this especial night was worthy of a more elevated 
fate ; and it may be regarded as a great pity that such 



144 JACK spratte's revenge. 

nights as these do not come in the daytime, when they 
would be better seen and more thoroughly admired — as 
sleep, for the most part, is imperative, and as there are but 
few of us who can manage its performance with our eyes 
open. 

The main object of nights of this description, taking it 
for granted that every thing has its purpose, is to soften 
the heart — +0 render it flexible, malleable, and susceptible 
to the softer impressions. The sun, for instance, melts 
the ice, and gives plasticity to many descriptions of candy ; 
but its warmest rays are ineffective, so far as the sympa- 
thies of the soul are concerned. No one is apt to fall in 
love at mid-day, or is much disposed to a declaration of 
passion, at three o'clock of a sunny afternoon. Existence, 
at these periods, is, in the main, altogether practical 
and unimaginative — good enough, no doubt, for buying 
and selling, and the eating of dinners ; but not at all cal- 
culated to elicit the poetry of the affections. Whereas 
your moonhght evenings, when the frost is out of the 
ground, play Prometheus to sentiment, and, when the 
patient is not addicted to cigars and politics, both of which 
are antagonistical to this species of refinement, are sure 
to induce the bachelor to think that his condition is in- 
complete, and that there are means by which he might 
be made considerably happier. Thus it is that " our life 
is twofold" — that before tea we are one person, and that 
afler this interesting event, we are somebody else. 

It was on such an evening as we have attempted some- 
what elaborately to describe, and it was under such a 
state of circumstances as we have incidentally alluded to, 
that Jack Spratte escorted Miss Felicia Phinney home 
from a tea party, given among themselves by the fish- 
merchants. Jack Spratte had been as merry as a " grigge" 
throughout the entertainment. He had danced and he 
had sung — he had played "pawns" and "Copenhagen" 



JACK spratte's revenge. 145 

— he had " sighed in a corner" — he had loved his love 
with a " C," because she was "curious," "crusty" or 
"crooked," and so forth; but still Jack Spratte was 
heartwhole — sound as a roach, and as gracefully playful 
as an eel. Jack Spratte, in that blind confidence for 
which some men are remarkable, thought that the hook 
had not yet been baited which was destined to discompose 
the serenity of his gills, and that he was no catfish in a 
pool, devoted to an early fry. He little dreamed that 
celibacy is very "unsartin," and that the cork lines and 
the lay-out lines, together with the dipsies, to say nothing 
of the gilhng seines, the floats and the scoop-nets, are 
always about, and that the most innocent nibble may 
result in a captivation. 

Jack Spratte was strong in spirit when he stepped forth 
from the festive hall, and crooked his dexter arm for the 
accommodation of Miss Felicia Phinney. He was jocose 
in his criticisms and observations for a square or two, and 
he reviewed the sports of the evening with a degree of 
humour which entitled him to rank with the wits of the 
time. But the night was one not to be resisted, even by 
Jack Spratte. He soon found that his chest — the chest 
enclosing his susceptibilities — was not a safety chest, 
not a fireproof asbestos chest, such as they roast under 
cords of blazing hickory, and submit without damage to 
vast conflagrations — but, on the contrary, though he 
never suspected it before, rather a weak chest — he had 
an oppression at the chest — in short, an afTection of the 
chest, resulting in a palpitation of the heart — and his 
tongue became hard and dry, while there was a peculiar 
whizzing in his ears, as if the " Ice-breaker" were sud- 
denly letting off steam. He stammered and he trembled. 

" It can't be the punch," observed Jack Spratte, in- 
ternally to himself; " it can't be the punch that makes 
me such a Judy. I didn't take enough of it for that — 
154 



146 JACK spratte's revenge. 

no, nor do I believe it is the fried oysters; for I put plenty 
of Cayenne pepper and mustard on 'em." 

No, Jack Spratte ; it was neither the punch nor the 
oysters. They are wronged by the suspicion. It was 
the moonlight, chiefly, and Miss Felicia Phinney in the 
second place. Amid the oysters, the punch and the 
blazing lamps — amid the joke, the laugh and the song — 
yea, even in the romp and in the redemption of pawns. 
Jack Spratte was safe. But a walk into the air proved 
fatal to him. The contrast was too much for his consti- 
tution, like an icy draught on an August day. Mirth 
often reacts into sensibility, and the liveliest strain easily 
modulates into tenderness ; just as extreme jocundity in a 
child is but the prelude to a flood of tears. 

Jack Spratte acted without premeditation, and instinct- 
ively thought it wiser to begin afar off', and to approach 
the subject by circumvallation. His first parallel was laid 
as follows : 

" Miss Phinney," said he, and his voice faltered as he 
spoke, " Miss Phinney, don't you think that pearches is 
good, but that rockfishes is nicer — better nor sunnies?" 

" Why, every goose knows that," replied the lady, 
forgetting, in her dislike to the professional allusion of 
Spratte's remark, that geese are not particularly addicted 
to fish — " but what are you talking about sich things now 
for ? We're not setting on the end of the wharf, I'd like 
to know — are we ?" 

" No, we're not," hastily ejaculated Jack Spratte, who 
felt that the crisis of his fate was at hand ; «' but oh, Miss 
Phinney! — oh. Miss Felicia Phinney! — don't trifle with 
my dearest affekshins — don't keep me a danglin' and a 
kickin', with a big hook right through the grisde of my 
nose !" 

The figurative style in which passion is apt to indulge, 
was strikingly manifest in Mr. Spratte's mode of expres- 



JACK spratte's revenge. 147 

sion; but it may well be doubted whether it operated in 
a way likely to promote his cause. 

« Well, if ever I heerd of sich a tarnal fool !" was Miss 
Phimiey's unkind response ; " Jack Spratte, I've not got 
hold of your nose yet, whatever I may do if you keep 
a cuttin' up in this crazy sort of way ; and as for your 
affekshins, take care there isn't kicks about your other 
shins, which might hurt worse. Why — what — do— you 
— mean — anyhow?" continued she, with great emphasis 
and deliberation. 

" I mean," gasped Jack Spratte, so overcome by the 
contending emotions of love and fear, that he was con- 
strained to catch hold of a lamp-post with his disengaged 
hand, to prevent himself from falling; "what I mean is 
this — you've got a nibble — yes, you've got a bite ! — haul 
me up quick, thou loveliest of sitters in the Jarsey mar- 
ket — haul me up quick, and stow me away in your basket. 
I'm hook'd and I am cotch'd— I'm your « catty' forver- 
more. String me on a willow switch, and lug me right 
away home !" 

And Jack Spratte came near fainting upon the spot. 
His heart was laid open — a feat of amatory surgery which 
almost proved fatal to the daring lover. 

Miss FeHcia Phinney stepped back and gazed at him 
in undisguised amazement. 

"You, Jack!" said she, "you'd better jine the teeto- 
tallers to-morrow, when you've got the headache. You 
must be snapt now — any man that acts so queer, must be 

blue." 

"No, no, no! — I thought it was the punch myself, 
at first— but it's not— it's love— nothing but love— love, 
without no water, no sugar, nor no nutmeg. They 
couldn't make punch so strong— not even with racky- 
fortus, stirred up with lignum- witey ! Take pity on me, 
do ! Mayn't I hope, Phinney, mayn't I hope ? If you 



148 JACK spratte's revenge. 

hav'n't time to love me now, I can wait till you're ready- 
yes, wait a hopin'." 

" You're much more likely to be sent a hoppin', Mr. 
Jack Spratte." 

" I only want to be on an understandin' now — sort of 
engaged, and sort of not engaged — just to know who I 
belong to." 

" Well, once for all, you wont belong to me. Jack 
Spratte, no how it could be fixed," and Miss Felicia 
Phinney began to look enchantingly savage. 

"Ah, now, don't — the cork's under — pull me up — 
ah, do !" 

Jack Spratte sank upon his knees, with mouth open 
and upturned, as if he expected to be taken in hand im- 
mediately, and to have the hook gently and scientifically 
extracted, after the fashion of the experienced angler; 
but he was doomed to disappointment ; and, to continue 
the metaphor, he may be regarded as a trout that broke 
the snood, and was left among the bulrushes, to pine away, 
with the barb deep in its gullet — an image, to express 
this pecuUar state of things, which is quite as poetical, 
true and striking: as if allusion were had to the " stricken 
deer," or to the " arrow-wounded dove." Birds and 
quadrupeds have had a monopoly in this matter quite too 
long, and original sentiment must now prepare to dive 
among the fishes, for the sake of novel illustration. 

t'Jack Spratte," said the "scornful ladye," "quit 
lookin' like a sturgeon with the mumps — I've done with 
you — get up and tortle home the straightest way there is, 
and think yourself confounded lucky that you didn't get 
spanked this very night. Marry you, indeed ! — why, I 
wouldn't marry a decent man, or a good-lookin' man, or a 
man with some sort of sense in his head ; and nobody 
would ever tell so big a whacker as to say you are sich a 
int* Now, do you hooey home, and don't try to follow 



JACK spratte's revenge. 149 

me, if you happen to know when a fool is well off;" and 
the " scornful ladye" walked disdainfully away, with an 
air like Juno in her tantrums. 

Jack Spratte remained upon his knees, as if converted 
into a perfect petrifaction. His eyelids never twinkled — ■ 
he seemed not even to breathe — to all intents and pur- 
poses, he was, for the time being, a defunct Spratte, and 
it is presumed that, to this day, he would still have been 
found upon the same spot, like a spratte done in salt, if 
the watchman had not threatened to arrest him for being 
non com. 

<' Where is she ?" exclaimed he wildly, as he started 
to his feet. 

" Where is what?" said the nocturnal perambulator. 

" Mrs. Spratte !" cried Jack, with a bewildered air, 
<' Mrs. Jack Spratte, that is to be. I'm goin' to be mar- 
ried, aint I ?" 

" I don't know whether you're going to be marrried 
or not," was the petulant reply ; " but, if you don't go 
away, you'll be like to spend the rest of the evening with 
the capun, at the watch'us. It's not my business to tell 
people when they're goin' to be married, whether they're 
sprattes or gudgeons." 

"Yes, that's it — I am — I am a gudgeon!" said vSpratte, 
smiling his forehead and then dardng away. 

<' A werry flat sort of a fish, that chap is," said Gliarley, 
with a sage expression. 

Jack Spratte went directly home, just as he had been 
bid — he went home, not with any definite purpose in 
view — he did not want to sleep, he did not want to eat, 
he did not want to sit down — he merely experienced an 
undefined '< want to go home," peculiar to the Anglo- 
Saxon race, when they do not exactly know what to do 
with themselves, (all other people go out, under similar 
circumstances,) and, IhercfDr?, home he went, very much 



150 JACK spratte's revenge. 

after the fashion of a livery-stable horse, when the gig 
has been demolished, or the rider left in some friendly- 
ditch. He came home like a whirlwind ; but yet his feel- 
ings were those which may be supposed to belong to the 
minor vegetables — the most diminutive of the potato tribe. 
He had not been " strung upon a willow switch" — he, 
Jack Spratte, was enrolled among the " great rejected" — 
a goodly company enough ; but he derived no consolation 
from the thought. 

Jack Spratte vowed vengeance! — ^Jack Spratte kept 
his word ! ! 

Many other lovers shared the fate which had befallen 
the unhappy Spratte ; and, to the general eye, it certainly 
did appear as if Felicia Phinney was to realize her boast, 
that " if other gals had to take up with husbands, she, at 
least, could do without a master," though it was perhaps 
clear enough that, in any event, the master was likely to 
be but a " negative quantity." 

Miss Fehcia Phinney waxed onward in years, and, as 
her years increased, her energy and her commanding 
spirit seemed to gather new strength. She became omni- 
potent in the market-house, and wo to those who dared 
to undersell, or tried too perseveringly to cheapen her 
commodities. 

" Why now, aunty, is that the lowest ?" was some- 
times, and not unfrequently, the question. 

" Sattingly — what d'ye 'spect? — Fishes is fishes now, 
and shad is skurse," would be the tart reply, and the 
saleswoman would slap a pair of shad together, until the} 
resounded through the arches of the market like the re- 
port of a swivel — " skurse enough, and the profits being 
small, them as prices, ought to buy — that's the principle 
T go upon," and the fishes would again be brought in 
contact, to the great discomposure of all who happened 
to be within hearing. 



JACK spratte's revenge. 151 

It appeals of this sort, the maiden fish- woman seldom 
failed to be successful — especially when the customer 
happened to be rather unpractised in the affairs of the 
market — for there was something peculiarly imposing in 
her tone and attitude, as she held a fish by the gills in each 
hand. Mark Antony himself was not more persuasive 
over the remains of the slain Caesar, than was Miss Felicia 
Phinney when haranguing over her "skurse shad." 

"Ha! ha! it's well she bought something," would be 
the after remark, " for if there's any thing I hate to do, 
it is being obligated and necessiated to flop a customer 
over the head with a shad — 'specially if it's a lady, with 
a bran-new, tearin' fine bonnet — a hard flop with a shad 
is sudden death and run for the coroner, on spring fash- 
ions. But when people prices, they've got to buy. I go 
for principles, and if they wont buy, why, flopped they 
ought to be, and flopped they must be, or our rights will 
soon be done for. People are gettin' so sassy now, that 
by'm'by, if they're not learnt manners, they'll take our 
shad for nothin', and make us carry 'em home to boot. 



There certainly appears to be a retributive principle in 
nature, which, sooner or later, victimizes us as we have 
vi-^.timized others — a species of moral lex talioniSy which 
returns the ingredients of our chalice to our own lips. 
No m.an ever made a greater " bull" than he who manu- 
factured a brazen representative of the animal, that 
Phalaris might roast his victims in it, and hear their bel 
lowing cries — for the ingenious artificer was himselt the 
earliest victim, and roared like a calf. The original 
hangman does not live in story. It is but fair, however, 
to infer that he died by the rope, and either strangled 
himself, or had that friendly oflfice performed for him b> 
another. All who introduced refinements in the ajipli 
cation of the axe — that most aristocratic of executive 
36 



152 JACK spratte's revenge. 

instruments — have themselves been subjected to a differ- 
ent process of " shortening" from any set down in Miss 
LesUe's "Domestic Cookery;" and probably the inventor 
of solitary confinement and the " Pennsylvania system of 
prison discipline," was she of the " misdeto bough" — the 
identical lady of the « old oak chest." The retributive 
principle goes even further than this. There are retri- 
butive husbands and retributive wives — such, at least, do 
they seem to be — whose office appears to consist in being 
a penance for previous jiltings, previous flirtations, and 
antecedent insults of all kinds, to the blind little gentle- 
man who primitively sports with bow and arrow, disdain- 
ing recourse to the use of fire-arms. In this sense, Mr. 
Brownstout was a retribution — a retribution for all the 
past offences of Miss Felicia Phinney. He had been 
ambushed far onward in her course through time ; so 
that when she thought the past forgotten, and when she 
had measurably forgotten the past, the retributive hus- 
band might, like a steel trap, be sprung upon her. 
Whether Brow^nstout — Mr. Brownstout — had been cre- 
ated and trained for this especial purpose, does not appear. 
He was but a little fellow, it is true — in this respect, his 
person and his name were in evident contradiction to 
each other; but he was an ample sufficiency to bring 
about the purposes for which he was intended. 

There is, they say, such a thing as love at first sight — 
an instantaneous attack, resembling somewhat the unex- 
pected assault of cholera, in Calcutta or thereabouts, where 
the victim, doubled up, at once falls to the ground. This 
spontaneous combustion is not perhaps so frequent in 
modern days, as when the world was younger. Time and 
change, atmospherical or otherwise, modify all disorders, 
and by these influences, love, like the lightning, has, to 
a considerable extent, fallen under the control of science, 
and has ceased to be so ras}>, sudden, and explosive as it 



JACK spratte's revenge. 153 

was ; while the actual cases do not exhibit symptoms so 
imminent and dangerous. Young gentlemen now-a-days 
are not nearly so apt, according to the popular phrase, to 
be " struck all of a heap," as their grandfathers and their 
paternal predecessors are represented to have been. The 
Fire- King thought little of remaining in the oven until the 
dinner was baked — a feat at which precedent ages would 
have looked aghast — but experiment has since proved 
that the generality of our kind are salamanders to the 
same extent, and a similar truth appears to have been 
demonstrated, as to the capacity existing in the present 
era, to withstand the fire of the brightest eyes that ever 
beamed from a side-box at the opera. Who ever hears 
that Orlando has shot himself for love with a percussion 
pistol, or with one of your six barrelled, repeating deto- 
nators ? No — that fashion expired before the flint locjc 
was superseded, and when the steam engine came roaring 
along, the lover ceased to sigh, — instead of suffering 
himself to be pale and disheveled, he looks in the mir- 
ror and brushes his whiskers; and, as hearts are not 
knocked about so violently as they were at the period of 
small swords and chapeaus, it follows as a natural conse- 
quence, that they are very rarely broken past repair. 

Miss Fehcia Phinney, it may be, from having so long 
evaded the " soft impeachment," was finally afflicted 
somewhat after the fashion of our ancestors. Her consti- 
tution, not being accustomed — perhaps we should say 
seasoned — to such shocks, "took it hard." An indi- 
vidual of her <•<■ timber" could not be expected to " pine ;" 
but when Mr. Brownstout first insinuatingly and delicately 
asked the price of a shad — in those very tones which 
cause lovers' words to sound " so silver sweet by night" 
— she felt that her hour had come — and that her " un- 
housed free condition must be put in circumscription and 
confine." Whether she was affected by the force of 



154 JACK spratte's revenge. 

contrast, in joining which, as Mr. Sheridan Knowles has 
taken occasion to remark, <<Heth love's dehght," or whe- 
ther Mr. Brownstout only chanced to present himself at 
the propitious moment, is a problem which the parties 
themselves, unaccustomed as they are to such analysis, 
could not undertake to solve. It is true that Felicia 
Phinney was somewhat tall and not a little muscular, and 
that Mr. Brownstout had no pretensions either to length, 
or to any unusual degree of latitude in form. She was 
bold, determined, and rather Stentorian in her vocahties 
— he was mild, submissive and plausible, when it was 
necessary — being both serpentine and dovelike. 

Brownstout saw that he had made an impression. — 
Every one intuitively knows when he has been thus for- 
tunate ; and he justly thought that if he had been so suc- 
cessful when only asking the price of a fish, results must 
ensue proportionably greater, if he were actually to become 
the purchaser of the article ; for, if a mere tap at the door 
is productive of notable consequences, a regular peal with 
the knocker cannot fail to rouse the entire household. 
Now Brownstout, who at that period was^ "a tailor by 
trade," but one who had a soul so much above buttons 
that he could but rarely be persuaded to sew any of them 
on, had a tolerably clear perception of the fact, that it 
would be rather a comfortable thing — a nice thing, in- 
deed — to hang up his hat in a house of his own, and to 
possess a wife gifted with the faculty of making money — 
a sublunary arrangement of surpassing loveliness, pro- 
vided the wife be duly impressed with a sense of its sym- 
metrical proportions, and has the good taste not to recur 
to the subject too often. On the one hand, he saw — " in 
his mind's eye, Horatio" — enchanting visions of ninepins, 
shuffleboard and other exercises of that sort, made still more 
agreeable by proper allowances of ale and tobacco — while, 
on the olhc: hand, a sufficient basis — <' a specie basis" — 



JACK spratte's revenge. 155 

for all these absorbing delights was evident in a stand at 
the mart piscatorial, femininely attended. There was a 
beautiful harmony in this aspect of the case, that came 
straight home to his bosom. It combined dignity with 
utility — poetry with practice — the sweet with the useful, 
in such architectural grace, that it was not in his nature 
to abandon the prospect. He had what few men have — 
a scheme of life before him, w^hich dove-tailed into all his 
peculiarities of disposition, and might be pronounced 
perfect. It is not then to be wondered at that Thais at 
Alexander's side, on the memorable evening when the 
mail brought the election returns from Persia, was not 
more soul-subduing than Miss Felicia Phinney seemed in 
the eyes of the enraptured Brownstout. 

It was not in his way, to be sure. He was not alto- 
gether accustomed to such matters ; but as he was aware 
of the truth of the axiom, " nothing venture, nothing 
have," he ultimately made the desperate resolve to buy a 
fish, and — reckless man! — to pay for it! — to buy, if 
necessary to the completion of his great design, several 
successive fishes and to pay for them, and he saw but one 
difficulty in the way. His road was clear enough so far 
as the mere purchase was involved ; but it was the second 
clause in the programme of the operation which some- 
what puzzled Mr. Brownstout, as indeed it oflen puzzles 
financiers of a more elevated range. He might buy, but, 
like Macbeth, he did not know how to " trammel up the 
consequence," which was to pay. It is true that a cer 
tain practical philosopher has decided that " base is the 
slave who pays ;" yet there are times when circumstances 
so combine against the principles of "free trade" that to 
pay is unavoidable. Mr. Brownstout felt his situation to 
be a case in point, and he was sadly puzzled as to the 
mode in which this monetary obstacle was to be sur- 
mounted, until he remembered that, in default of assets, 



156 JACK SPRATTE S REVENGE. 

there is a mode of hypothecating one's hopes and pros- 
pects so that they may be " coined to drachmas." He 
resolved to borrow on his personal liability, secured by 
the " collateral" of his chances in matrimony, of course 
promising a premium proportionate to the risk. For the 
means of obtaining a half dollar's worth of fish, he was, 
at a future day, to return a full dollar, which is not un- 
reasonable, considering the shadowy nature of prospective 
dollars, dependent on contingencies — dollars, so situated, 
are very uncertain dollars — dollars, which are "to be or 
not to be," as the fates may determine. When any one 
says "I'll owe you a dollar," it often requires acute ears 
to detect even the approaching jingle thereof. 

" A sweet morning. Miss Phinney ! — a lovely morning 
— quite circumambient and mellifluous, if I may use the 
expression. Such mornings as this cause us bachelors 
to feel like posts in a flower garden — we may look on, to 
be sure, but no rosies and posies are blooming for us — we 
are nothing but interlopers and don't belong to the family 
— solitary and forlorn in the middle of the crowd. More 
juvenile people, such as you. Miss Phinney, don't realize 
those things ; but forme !" — and Brownstout assumed an 
expression peculiarly plaintive, as he stood in the market- 
house vis-a-vis to the shad basket. 

" I minds my own business, Mr. Brownstout, and never 
trades in rosies and posies," was the gentle reply ; " the 
beautifulest mornings, to my thinking, is them when peo- 
ple bites sharp and are hungry for fish. Hyperflutenations 
and dictionary things are not in my way;" but Miss 
Phinney was evidently pleased with Brownstout's " hyper- 
flutenations and dictionary things," and liked them none 
the worse probably because they were not very clearly 
understood. 

"You are right, madam — perfectly right. When 
people have a taste for fish, they are generally fond of fish, 



JACK spratte's revenge. .157 

and are likely to show their good sense by buying fish. 
I'm very much attached to fish myself. How are fish 
to-day ?" 

" Why, pretty well, I thank you, Mr. Brownstout ; 
how do you find yourself?" 

This being the first attempt at a joke ever essayed by 
Miss Felicia Phinney, she was quite pleased with the 
darling, and she laughed — rather rustily, it must be con- 
fessed, but she did laugh; and Brownstout, not being 
deficient in tact, he laughed too. If you desire to win 
people's hearts, always laugh at their jokes, whether good, 
bad, or indiiferent — more heartily, in fact, at those which 
are bad and indiflferent than at the good ones. It proves 
your benevolence. The good joke can take care of itself 
and walk alone, while the others are rickety and require 
cherishing, and are also, on this account, the greater 
favourites with the author of their being. 

Brownstout laughed — "ha — ha — hugh!" and Miss 
Phinney laughed — "he — he — haw!" Pretty well on 
both sides. This intermingling of laughs often leads to 
an intermingling of sighs, if care be taken not to laugh too 
much ; for a lover habitually jocose seldom prospers with 
the fair, however deep the undertow of his sentimentality. 
Brownstout was aware of this, and subsided betimes into 
a more amiable 'haviour of the visage. 

He finally bought his fish, and, as they dangled from 
his hand, so did he dangle after Miss Phinney, and the 
combined perseverance of dangling and purchasing at 
last brought him to the haven of his hopes. They were 
married, and Miss Felicia Phinney was duly metamor- 
phosed into Mrs. Brownstout. 

But who had urged this ill-starred attachment to so dire 
a catastrophe ! — who but Jack Spratte — the Vamey Spratte 
— the lago Spratte — the worse than Schedoni Spratte ! — 
Spratte, the rejected — Spratte, the despised!! He had 



158 JACK spratte's revenge. 

never forgotten, though long years had elapsed, the out- 
rage to his tender emotions on that memorable night of 
" Copenhagen and fried oysters" — of love and despair — 
when the expression of his lacerated feelings had been 
imputed to the effects of punch — when, in spite of assu- 
rances that " the hook was through the gristle of his nose," 
the obdurate fair had refused to "pull him up." Had 
Jack Spratte been oblivious of his wrongs ? No — they 
had lain within his bosom as icy as a cold potato, while 
the sweet cider of his affections had passed through all 
the grades of fermentation — acetous and so forth — until 
they had become vinegar, sharper than the north wind — 
pepper vinegar, to which " picaliUies" are not a circum- 
stance. The merry Spratte, in a single night, had been 
converted into a pike of the fiercest description. He 
frequented the shuffleboard — he early discovered the 
secret of Mr. Brownstout's attachment — he treated to 
slings and egg nog, until he ascertained the relative posi- 
tion of parties, and all necessary particulars — he con- 
firmed Brownstout's wavering resolution — he lent him the 
money to buy shad — and he, even he, stood groomsman 
at the ceremony, covering his procrastinated triumph in 
deceptive smiles, and eating cake as if his heart were filled 
with sympathetic emotions. 

Why did Jack Spratte do this ? — why ? — because he 
knew Mr. Brownstout's sordid views — his nefarious de- 
signs — his intention to frequent the ninepin alley and the 
shuffleboard, while his wife sold fish in the market — his 
resolution never to work again. It was Jack Spratte's 
Revenge ! ! Diabolical Spratte ! ! ! 

The results which Jack Spratte had anticipated, as 
some compensation for his sufferings, were not of slow 
developmen*^ " Domestic uneasiness" gathered like a 
cloud aiouna the hearth-stone of the Brownstouts ; for 
Brownstout, being busily engaged in the pursuit of hap- 




"He finally bought his fish, and as they dangled from his hand, so did he 
dangle after Miss Phinuey, and the combined perseverance of dangling and 
purchasing at last brought him to the haven of his hopes. They were mar- 
ried, and Miss Felicia Phinney was duly metamorphosed into Mrs. Brown- 
stout." — Book III, page 157. 



JACK spratte's revenge. 159 

piness, was not only absent the greater part of the day, 
y^t rarely made his appearance at all until one or two 
:;'clock in the morning ; and, when he did come, his first 
visitation was to his wife's professional check apron, to 
obtain an additional supply of the sinews of war. 

" Husbands are luxuries, my dear, and must be paid 
or accordingly," was his only reply to words of remon- 
strance ; and when the aforesaid pocket was put out of 
sight, he broke things by way of demonstration, until it 
was again brought within reach. 

Mrs. Brownstout, in the warmth of her affection, for a 
time tried kindness as a means of reform — she winked at 
her husband's idleness and made him a weekly allowance ; 
but his ideas on the subject of gentlemanly expenditure, 
developed themselves too rapidly to be confined within 
the bounds of such Hmits, and he had secret recourse to 
the pocket, until the deficiencies thus occasioned became 
too palpable to be concealed. The cash would not ba- 
lance, and, naturally enough, the patience of Mrs. Brown- 
stout then kicked the beam. She « flopped" her Httle 
husband — not with a shad, as might be expected, but 
with a shovel appUed in its latitude, " broadside on." 

The next morning, silence reigned through the hapless 
domicile of the Brownstouts. The masculine owner of 
that name had disappeared, and with him the pocket, 
check apron and all. Night after night he came not, and 
Mrs. Brownstout grew meagre and dejected. 

"I'm a lone widder feller," sighed she, " or just as 
bad. When you aint got your husband, it's pretty near 
the same thing as if you hadn't none. But men is men 
all the world over, and you can't help it no how. When 
Brownstout fust came a courtin' to me, you'd a thought 
butter wouldn't a melted in his mouth, he pretended ta 
be so sniptious. He swore he loved me ; but now, just 
because of a little difficulty about the shovel, he's shinned 



160 JACK spratte's revenge. 

it like a white-head, with my pocket full of change and 
all the spoons he could lay his hands on." 

And so Mrs. Brownstout one evening sallied forth in 
search of the delinquent. 

The bar was in full practice — clients and "cases" 
flocked around it in abundance. Four " hands," with 
their sleeves rolled up, could scarcely, with all their quick- 
ness, mix the " fancy drinks" fast enough to supply the 
demand, so numerous were the applications for refresh- 
ment. Corks were popping — the bottles gurgled — clouds 
of cigar smoke were " rolling dun," and men had to 
speak at the very stretch of their voices, to be heard over 
the thunder of the balls, as they went trolling along the 
board and crashing among the ninepins, anon booming 
back adown the trough. There, amidst the crowd, divest- 
ed of his coat and waistcoat, to give free play to muscular 
action, was Brownstout! — the faithless Brownstout! — in 
his glory. His cigar and his half-empty tumbler stood 
upon an adjacent ledge — in the enthusiasm of the hour, he 
had not only bared his anus, but likewise girt his body with 
a bandana, and tucked his trow^sers into his boots. There 
was a streak of chalk upon his face, which gave its gene- 
ral flush of excitement a still more ruddy tinge. 

It was his throw ! 

Nicely did Brownstout poise the ponderous ball, which 
rested on his right hand, while the forefinger of the left 
remained for an instant upon its upper hemisphere. He 
paused a moment for an inspiring sip and a preliminary 
puff — and then — the living statues never displayed more 
grace in attitude — every head projected, as if their owners 
would penetrate into futurity, and see results before they 
were accomplished. Brownstout bowed himself to the 
task, scanning the interval with that eye of skill which 
BO surely betokens victory, and then, with a slide like 



JACK spratte's revenge. 161 

that of the feathered Mercury— whizz !— bang !— slam . — 
boom ! — bump ! — smash ! ! — crash ! ! ! 

" Another set-up !" is the general cry, and Brownstout, 
with a back-handed sweep across his countenance, which 
scarcely concealed the half-suppressed smile of conscious 
genius beaming in every feature — though he would have 
looked indifferent, had that been possible— turned him- 
self once more to his tumbler and to his cigar, Hke one 
who felt that '' he had done the state some service and 
they knew it." He had reason to be proud. Not only 
had he achieved victory for his " pard'ners" and gained 
the refreshment tickets— good for a drink and trimmings- 
consequent thereon — but he had also secured several bets, 
couched under the mysterious phrase of being for " some- 
thing all round." Indeed, it is not certain that an " oyster 
supper for six" was not also dependent on the result, 
which Brownstout had mentally resolved should be an 
oyster supper for one, on each of six specified nights, and 
not an oyster supper for six, on one night ; the last being 
a common arrangement, but regarded by him as at war 
with true economy, and as most " wasteful and ridiculous 

excess." 

After the first burst of exultation was over, the victors 
seemed suddenly to become athirst — they smacked their 
lips, and made many other conventional signs expressive 
of that condition, jogging the elbows of the defeated, and 
asking, very significantly, " what shall it be ?" — a sound 
which awakened the smiles of " the bar," the members 
whereof began scientifically to handle the decanters 
chiefly affected by Mr. Brownstout's "brave associates — 
partners of his toil"— for had he not gained the decisive 
" set-up ?" 

" Set-up!" — unlucky words ! Well said Napoleon to 
the Abbe De Pradt, that from the subUme to the ridicu- 
lous there is but one step. It was so with the emperor. 
155 



162 JACK spratte's revenge. 

He and Broxvnstout both found that often when we have 
gained a " set-up," we are nearest to a " set-down." 

" Out of the way !" shrieked a well-known voice, the 
owner of which was endeavouring to force a passage 
through the crowd — " I'm sure he's here — he's always 
here, and I'm come to fetch him !" 

"The old woman!" exclaimed Brownstout, in trem- 
bling dismay, as the tumbler slipped from his nerv^eless 
hand, and the cigar rolled into the folds of his bosom. 

" An old woman !" repeated the gentlemen of the bar, 
letting fall their "muddlers." 

"His old woman!" re-echoed the ninepin players, 
aghast. 

" Brownstout's old woman!" was the general chorus. 

"Run, Brown!" 

"Hop, Stout!!'* 

" Make yourself scarce !" 

Too late, alas ! were these kindly hints from those who 
would have saved their beloved friend from the infliction 
of domestic discipline. Brownstout saw that retreat was 
impossible. His wife's broad hand was upon him. He 
fell back breathless with terror — it is presumed that re- 
miniscences of the shovel danced athwart his brain. 

Like another Mephistophiles, Jack Spratte appeared 
upon the scene. The author of mischief is always in at 
the catastrophe. 

" You are a precious set of warmint !" said Mrs. Brown- 
stout, as she glared fiercely around — " who am I to thank 
for deludin' my old man to sich places as this, to waste 
his time and my money on fools and foolery .''" 

" Thank me !" exclaimed Jack Spratte, hysterically, 
" me ! — me ! to whom you guv' the mitten ! — me, who 
got the bag to hold ! — me, whose nose was put out of 
jint ! — me, whose young hopes was drownded in cold 
water almost before their eyes was opened !" 



JACK spratte's revenge. 163 

The " adsum qui y^ci" of the Latin poet was never 
more finely " done into English," though it may well be 
questioned whether the atrocious Spratte had ever heard 
of Nisus and Euryalus. 

The excitement became intense — the crowd hiiddled 
around — the boys rushed from the pins to listen to the 
denouement — and one thirsty soul at the bar showed his 
interest in the matter, by hastily swallowing the contents 
of three other gentlemen's glasses, to fortify himself for 
the occasion, after which he also hurried to the centre. 

" It was me that done it all !" continued Spratte, ges- 
ticulating spasmodically — "I know'd he'd break your 
heart ! — I know'd he'd hook your money ! — I know'd he'd 
keep always goin' out and never comin' home agin ! If 
it hadn't been for me, he'd not have married you — but 
now I'm revenged — now I'm happy — now I'm — ha! ha! 
hugh !" and Jack Spratte sprung high into the air, and, 
on his return to earth, spun round three times, and, ex- 
hausted by emotion, fell prostrate, upsetting a table upon 
which stood three " brandies" and one whisky punch. 

Mrs. Brownstout dropped her hands, and suffered the 
almost inanimate form of her husband to go lumbering to 
the earth, while she stood petrified with despair at this 
terrible revelation. Her heart was congealed, and every 
bystander was stricken with horror at Spratte's having 
been been such a " debaushed fish" — all were moved 
inwardly, except the utilitarian who had imbibed the 
other gentlemen's liquor, and he seized on the chance to 
move outwardly, that he might sneak away without dis- 
charging the dues for that which he had ordered himself. 

There were no more ninepins that night — the moral in- 
fluence was such that the boys put out the lights without 
being told to do so — if they had not, indeed, it is pro- 
bable the lights would have gone out of themselves. Mr. 
and Mrs. Brownstout went home in a cab — they were too 



164 JACK spratte's revenge. 

much overcome to walk. Jack Spratte recovered by sW 
degrees — the three brandies and the whisky punch, in 
which he was immersed, probably saved his life — but 
Jack Spratte never smiled again, no matter how good the 
joke. His bosom was seared — his heart was like a dried 
cherry several seasons old, and so he became a drummer 
in the marines, delighting only in the beating of tattoo 
and reveille, as two of the most misanthropic of employ- 
ments — the one sending men to bed, while the other 
forces them to get up. He was severe upon these points 
of war, and it was noticed that he was always a little be- 
fore the time in the performance of each. Such are the 
spiteful effects of blighted affections, which give acerbity 
even to a musician ! But Jack Spratte's revenge had 
failed — most signally failed. After the events of the 
ninepin alley, Brownstout was an altered man. He 
might justly be spoken of as a great moral re-action. 
Stung to the quick at having been made an instrument 
of revenge — a mere drumstick of malignity — he burnt all 
the tickets in his possession, " good," as they were, "for 
refreshments at the bar" — he returned the check apron 
pocket to his wife, though probably it would have been 
more acceptable if any thing had remained in it. The 
spoons, however, were past redemption ; but what are 
spoons in comparison with matrimonial comfort — what 
are spoons, when one's husband works in the daytime 
and never goes out in the evenings ? Mrs. Brownstout was 
a happy woman, and never, in fact, hinted at " spoons," un- 
less she had cause to suspect that her husband's thoughts 
might perhaps be straying towards ninepins. That word 
always brought him straight, and she but rarely had occa- 
sion to say " spoons," except on the Fourth of July or about 
the Christmas holidays. As for the bibulous individual 
before alluded to, the poetic catastrophe to which he was 
an accidental witness, made him so dry that he has been 



JACK spratte's revenge. 165 

busy ever since in a vain endeavour to quench his thirst 
He thinks of hiring himself out as a dam to any mode- 
rate sized river, and would do so, if the navigation com 
pany were liberal enough to put a drop of something 
in the water, just to take the chill off and to correct its 
crudities. 

And such is the end of " Jack Spratte's Revenge." 



CORNEE LOUNGEES. 

There are men — many men — whose mental callipers 
grasp only a single idea — the sun of whose thought re- 
volves about, warms and enlightens but one little world, 
that world being the contracted universe (for universe it 
IS to them) of their own personal affairs and individual 
interests. From some congenital defect in their intel- 
lectual optics — as spectacles for the mind remain to be 
invented, and as the concave lens has not yet been ad- 
justed to rectify the imperfect vision of the soul — they 
live within a narrow horizon, and browse, as it were, 
with a tether, having a certain circumference of grass, 
without the ability to take a mouthful beyond its limits. 
Nor, indeed, have they any desire for such epicurean ad- 
venture. They do not so much as wish to glance into any 
field which is not peculiarly their own. The clover which 
belongs to them, satisfies all their wants, and to disturb 
themselves at all, as to how other people make hay, is a 
stretch of ambition to which they never aspire. Annies 
may devour each other — navies may go down and submit 
their Paixhans artillery to the investigation of the grampus 
and other martial fishes, — empires may rock and reel, like 
Fourth of July revellers, in the days when the evidence 
of patriotism was to make the head heavier than the heels ; 
but the species to which we refer, still open their shops 
with unshaken nerves, take their breakfast with undimin- 
ished appetite, and go about their business with no thought 
but that of making both ends meet. To bear a hand in 
the grand work of ameliorating the condition of the human 
race, is a matter, in their opinion, which qualifies one for 
the first vacancy in the lunatic asylum. They belong to 
no philanthropic associations to regulate the price of soaj: 
166 



WTOiimmiii'miii'i « 







"They literally are the pillars of the state. They prop up lamp-posts, pa- 
tronize fire-plugs, and encourage the lindens of the street in their unpractised 
efforts to grow.'"— Book III, paffe 167. 



CORNER LOUNGERS. 167 

m another hemisphere ; nor have they ever entered into an 
organization to compel the employing shoemakers of the 
moon to give their apprentices half-holiday once a week 
y They are sure that a Convention" must be something 
'■ relative to Bedlam, and that those who wish to reform 
everybody else, must stand greatly in need of some such 
; operation themselves. An election, to them, is an an- 
nual nuisance— a periodical eruption, made necessary by 
a defective constitution, and all the meetings which go 
before, are, in their eyes, merely the premonitory symp- 
tom that disease is reaching a crisis. Processions and 
parades move their pity, and when they think at all about 
the turmoil of the outer world, it is only to wonder when 
the fools will have it " fixed" to their liking. 
^ Far different from these is that disinterested body of 

men and boys who lounge at the corners of the way in a 
great metropohs; members of the human family who may 
be said to be always on hand and continually i,i circula- 
tion. They literally are the pillars of the state. They 
prop up lamp-posts— patronise fire-plugs, and encouracri 
the hndens of the street in their unpractised efforts °(: 
grow. The luxuriant trees, which adorn the front of In- 
dependence Hall, outstrip all others in umbrageous beauty 
because they, beyond all others, have been sustained by 
the kindness of loungers ; and they now strive to return 
the comphment, by affording a canopy to intercept the ray., 
of the sun, and to avert the falling shower, from the 
beloved friends who stand by them, have stood by them, 
and will continue to stand by them, in every sort of 
weather. 

In ancient Rome, whenever that respectable republic 
got itself into a difficulty with those unreasonable people 
^^dio were foolish enough to wish to regulate their own 
affairs, and when the storm grew loud and threatehing, it 
was sometimes found necessary to intrust all thino-s to^'the 
.37 ^ 



16S 



CORNER LOUNGERS. 



discretion of a dictator, whose duty it was "to take 
care that the republic received no detriment." But, 
without the provisions of law — without the troubles and 
dangers which flowed from the Roman practice, we are 
happy in the possession of a host of such officers, un- 
recognised, it is true, but not the less efficient, whose 
chief employment and whose main delight it is, reckless 
of honour and emolument, to take care that nothing 
detrimental happens to the republic. Their regards are 
always upon it, in jealous supervision. They are no 
speculative overseers, who imperfectly attend to exterior 
affairs, by lounging in slippered ease in luxurious offices, 
disporting themselves over the newspapers of the day. 
They are not influenced by the mere report of scouts, or 
the sinister assertions of the interested ; but make it their 
daily practice to hear with their own ears and to see with 
their own eyes. Nay, they push their zealous watchful- 
ness so far, that they may often be seen in the exercise 
of their high functions, when other mortals, less gifted 
with discrimination, can discover nothing to excite their 
notice. When the pavier is at work in the highway, 
heaving the weighty rammer with most emphatic groan, 
not a pebble is driven to its place, that the genuine 
lounger has not marked in every stage of its progress. No 
gas-pipe is adjusted, without undergoing a similar scrutiny, 
and the sanctified spot where the pig was killed or the 
hound was run over, acquires such mysterious and fasci- 
nating importance in the lounger's estimation, that he 
will stand whole days in sombre contemplation of so dis- 
tinguished a locality. Even the base of Pompey's statue, 
where great Caesar fell, could not prove more attractive ; 
and Rizzio's blood, which stains the floor of Holyrood, 
is not more dear to the antiquary than are the marks left 
by an overturned wagon, to the non-commissioned super- 
intendents of the city. Indeed, they have been seen 




CORNER LOUNGERS. 169 

congregated for hours around the house from which the 
tenants moved on the previous night, without complying 
With the vexatious ceremony of paying the rent — a feudal 
exaction perpetuated by landlords for the perplexity of 
the people. Should a masterless hat be found, or a drop 
of blood be discovered in the street, it forms a nucleus 
for a gathering. No matter how slight the cause may 
seem to the ordinary intellect, there are persons who look 
more deeply into things, and derive wisdom from circum- 
stances apparently too trivial to deserve regard. 

But they are secret, too. The perfect lounger, though 
prodigal of his presence, is a niggard with his words. It 
is his vocation to see, and not to speak. His inferences 
are locked within the recesses of his own breast. He is 
wary and diplomatic, and not like other individuals, to 
be sounded «'from the lowest note to the top of his com- 
pass," by the curiosity of each passing stranger. He 
opposes no one in the acquisition of knowledge— he places 
no stumbling-blocks in the way; but, by his taciturnity, 
intimates that the results of his labours are not to be 
obtained for nothing. It is his motto that if you desire 
information, you must use the proper means to acquire it; 
for you have the same natural qualifications for the pur- 
pose as he. 

That this characteristic belongs to the street lounger 

we have nothing to say about the inferior class who ope- 
rate solely within walls— is evident from the fact that it 
rarely happens in the course of the most inquisitive life, 
that any one, on approaching a crowd, can ascertain, by 
inquiry of ifs component members, why it has assembled. 
The question is either unheeded altogether, or else a 
supercilious glance is turned upon the querist, with a 
laconic response that the party does not know. Ostensi- 
bly, nobody knows a jot about the matter, except the 
fortunate few who form the inner circle, and, as it were. 



170 CORNER LOUNGERS. 

hem in all knowledge. They who extricate themselves 
early from the interior pressure, and walk away, either 
with smiling faces, as if the joke were good, or with a 
solemn sadness of the brow, as if their sensibilities 
had been lacerated, even they "don't know!" None 
will tell, except perchance it be a luckless urchin not yet 
taught to economize his facts, or some unsophisticated 
girl with a market basket, who talks for talking's sake. 
But who believes that the initiated " don't know" — that 
the omnipresent lounger "don't know?" It is not to be 
beheved. He does know ; but from some as yet unde- 
termined and unappreciated singularity of his nature, it is 
rather his pleasure to be looked upon as ignorant, than to 
" unlace his reputation" by proving false to so cardinal 
a point in the practice of his kind, as to be a mere bulletin 
for others' uses. What he knows, he knows — let that 
content you. He has employment for all he has acquired, 
which, to outward appearance, would be spoiled by par- 
ticipation ; but w^here, or how, or when he proposes to 
use it, is a problem which remains to be solved. 

Unawed by the state of the weather, these watchful 
sentinels are always abroad ; and so far are they elevated 
above the influences of prevailing effeminacy, that they 
indulge so little in home deUghts as to induce many to 
believe that they dispense altogether with the enervating 
comforts of a fixed domicile. When their nature must 
needs "recuperate," it is supposed they "rotate" for 
repose, and that thus, by never couching themselves con- 
secutively in the same nest, they catch abuses napping, 
by their sudden and unexpected appearance " so early in 
the morning." 

But, whatever may be the private habits, entomo- 
logically or ornithologically speaking, of " the corner 
lounger," he is a self-evident proposition and an undeni- 
able fact There may be doubts as to the existence of 



CORNER LOUNGERS. 171 

other things — all circumstantial nature may be disputed : 
but he must be confessed. Go where you will, he is 
there, and as he is there to everybody, his there must be 
everywhere, paradoxical as it may seem. His visibility 
is co-existent with your presence, and it would require 
the pen of transcendentahsm to explain the mysterious 
nature of his wonderful ubiquity. We have not language 
to pourtray the phenomena developed in this respect by a 
civic lounger of the superlative class ; but, in homely 
phrase, if we may so express it, like a speck upon the 
eye itself, look where you will, he stands full blown before 
you. He is rarely seen in motion — never in transitu; 
but he is at your elbow when you depart, and when you 
have reached your end, the lounger is at the place in an- 
ticipation, leisurely drumming with his heels upon a post 
and bearing no traces of a forced march. By what magic 
process this is accomplished, no one can tell. There is 
no proof that he travels. There is no physical sign in his 
appearance, to induce a belief that he excels in locomo- 
tion, or has any taste for such active employment as would 
seem to be necessary for achieving such results ; and so 
much are the scientific puzzled to account for the fact to 
which we have reference, that a paper is said to be in 
preparation for the "Philosophical Transactions," ha^-ing 
for its object to determine " whether a corner lounger, 
m his distinctive and individual capacity, be one or 
many ; or whether the specimen be not multitudinous, 
in an identical shape and image, so that in the same form 
and as one person, he is gifted with the capacity to be 
everywhere at once." Every nice observer will be in- 
clined to receive the last hypothesis as the correct im- 
pression ; for he must often have had abundant reason to 
conclude that the lounger is really thus, « as broad and 
general as the casing air" — a Monsieur Tonson who has 
always "come again." 



172 CORNER LOUNGERS. 

There are, however, certain peculiarities in this matter 
which are also worthy of remark — little niceties in the 
case which deserve their comment. As each man is sup- 
posed to have his superintending star — his supervising 
genius, which, both in weal and wo, hovers about his 
footsteps or directs his course, so each individual has his 
lounging "John Jones" — his familiar from the spirit-land 
of loaferdom. We know him not, but in his palpable 
form — we have exchanged no word or kindness with 
him — he has no interest in our affairs, nor we in his — 
there is no earthly tie existing ; but when we have once 
marked our coincident lounger, he is there for ever — our 
inevitable fate — the everlasting frontispiece in the volume 
of our experiences — our perpetual double, in sunshine or 
in rain. Let the fact once be presented to your sensorium 
that you rarely go to any place without seeing «' that 
man," and your doom is sealed. You never will go 
anywhere without seeing him, either there or on your way 
there, from that time forth ; and when you do not see him, 
be assured that there is abundant reason to doubt whether 
you are really yourself, and whether, notwithstanding 
appearances, you are not mistaken in the person — so that 
in shaving your apparent countenance, you may have 
shaved an impostor, and in drinking your wine, you may 
have been pouring refreshment down the throat of a rogue. 
When a man is without his shadow, what assurance is 
there that himself is he ? But when one's reflex is pre- 
sent, he may, in some cases, be satisfied that money put 
in his own pocket, is not intrusted to the care of a pecu- 
lator. And in this way is it that wisdom derives com- 
fort from the phenomenon that we have attempted to 
explain. 

Is the citizen martially inclined, and does he attend 
volunteer parades, to gratify the heroic longings of his 
soul by having his toes macerated by iron heels, his ribs 



CORNER LOUNGERS. 173 

compressed by ruffian elbows, or his abdominal capacity 
astonished by the musket-but of the authoritative sentinel, 
who knocks the breath out of your body, while politely 
exclaiming " stand back, gentlemen ; a little further, if 
you please !" There is his attendant lounger, in the best 
of possible places, and safely beyond the reach of the mob- 
repressing guard. 

Is the foiled pickpocket borne triumphantly to office 
of Recorder, Alderman or Mayor ? Look ye now and see. 
Within the rail of official function, close to magisterial 
dignity, there stands your ghost, your " bodach glas ;" not 
antecedent or consequent, but instant. No need to wish, 
or call, or wonder at his absence. You are here, and he 
is — there — cause and effect, linked together by hooks of 
steel. 'Tis your alter ego — your t'other eye. 

Do you attend the burial of a friend, and walk in gloom 
and silent sorrow ? Dash aside your tears, and behold, 
leaning against that funeral tree which overshadows the 
sad procession, an evidence is apparent that even in grief 
your unknown coadjutor is true to his vocation. You 
will never be deserted — never! 

Are you essentially humane, taking delight to see mur- 
der choked and homicide made breathless, that the Avorld 
may become tender-hearted and averse to horrors by fami- 
liarity with Ketch's delectable countenance.-* "That 
man" is helping to support the rectangular superstructure 
which reforms men by the speedy dislocation of their 
vertebral column, and improves the age by the disjoint- 
ing of necks. He and Ketch seem to be sworn brothers. 

But fear not. Though this circumstance of yours be 
something that cannot be avoided, either by secresy re- 
specting your movements — for he is an intuition — by 
rapidity of travel — for he is ubiquitous — or by cunning 
evasion — for he is instinctive — yet no harm appears ever 
to have arisen from this species of Chang and Engship — 



174 CORNER LOUNGERS. 

from this disjunctive Siamese twinnery, if we may .«c-* 
venture upon a terminological experiment, and coin a 
phrase to distinguish an unnamed idea. The " inevitable" 
may be sad in his expression; but he shows no sign of 
being mischievous in his soul, nor is his observation sar- 
castic in its conclusions. He is a student of humanity, 
ever at his book, but rather touched with melancholy at 
the lesson thus derived, than made misanthropic by a 
knowledge of our weaknesses and follies. Exulting beauty 
passes by him, and at the " rustling of silks and the creak- 
ing of shoes," which have betrayed so many hearts, he 
sighs to think that a bad cold or a misdirected bucket 
would soon reduce that joyousness to the most pitiable 
plight. He looks plaintively at the unheeding dog, who, 
ignorant of laws, and with muzzle at home, sports onward 
to the fell clutches of the sordid Sambo, to whom canine 
slaughter is a trade and profit ; and he draws analogies 
between puppyhood and youthful prime, revelling in wild 
delights, and unwarned of " ketchers" till they are caught. 
The lounger is a lonely moralist, who has too much gene- 
ral sympathy to isolate affection by contracting his sphere 
of usefulness — too disinterested to narrow himself down 
to a pursuit of selfish aggrandizement — too full of heart to 
be cooped within the ribs of a trade, and too anxious 
about the general welfare ever to give rest to his anxious 
eye. He is the general guardian — the foster mother of us 
all ; and perhaps it is our ignorance alone that regards him 
as being exclusive in his attentions ; just as childhood 
thinks that a portrait watches all its movements, or as the 
moon seems marching above our heads wherever we go. 
Such as we have described is Nicholas NoUikins — he 
with the breastpin — he who watches so intently the 
shaving, evolved and elaborated from its parent stick by 
the keen edge of his whittle. Though Nollikins appears 
to be cutting, and it is reasonable to suppose that he is 



CORNER LOUNGERS. 175 

cutting, yet Nollikins is also thinking. In fact, he is a 
sage — not such as they stuff ducks withal, or liquidate 
into medicinal tea — but that sort of saj^e which has sasfa- 
city for its result, better far than ducks or teas. Nolli- 
kins, however, labours under a difficulty. He is reflec- 
tive and observant, but not practical. He never comes 
to the application, for that word is particularly what he 
dislikes ; and hence the deep river of his probable useful- 
ness has its perfect navigation interrupted by a dam in 
the channel. His ships never come to port. Nollikins 
has in his time tried many trades ; but none of them agreed 
with him, except the office of being midshipman to an 
oyster boat, and there were points even in this profession 
which were repugnant to his finer emotions. " Raking" 
on dry land is not perhaps so disagreeable ; but let those 
who think that words are identical and synonymous, and 
represent the same thing at sea and ashore, try raking for 
oysters, as Nicholas Nollikins did for a whole season, and 
they will ever after have a correct appreciation of differ- 
ences. When the boat returned to the wharf, Nicholas 
was at home. His taste for society could now be gratified. 
The delicate aspirations of his nature found food in the 
distribution of oysters, and his imagination had room to 
expand as he opened the bivalves. What a delightful 
compound of business and pleasure is that phase of the 
oyster trade which sells wholesale, but yet does not scorn 
the niceties of retail to the hungry wanderer ! Benevo- 
lence and information are here combined — to talk and to 
eat — to question and to impart nourishment — to benefit 
both the physique and the morale at the same time — who 
would not be midshipman of an oyster boat — who could 
not Uve whole days at the wharf, under such circum- 
stances ? Nollikins could — Nollikins did — thrice happy 
Nollikins.' 

But the genial sky always has clouds in it — a spring 



176 CORNER LOUNGERS. 

morning, be it as balmy as it may, is generally followed 
by a cloudy afternoon. When oysters are sold and eaten, 
it is a necessity, arising from the unfortunate state of 
things in this sublunary sphere, that you must go after 
additional oysters — that is, if you want more ; for oysters, 
unlike the accommodating shad, have not yet learned to 
come up the river of themselves, that they may be caught 
at the very door. Few things, in the eating way, have 
that innate politeness so remarkable in the character of a 
shad. Had the shad been blessed with feet and hands, 
there cannot be a doubt but that it would complete its 
measure of complaisance by walking up the street and 
ringing at the bell, with a civil inquiry for the cook and 
the gridiron. It would come about half an hour before 
breakfast, and never defer its call till after tea. Com- 
mend us to the shad, as the best mannered fish that swims. 
Many men might go to school to the shad ; and indeed, if 
our piscatory learning be not at fault, the shad do assem- 
ble in schools, to which cause possibly may be attributed 
the excellence of their training. Always bow with 
deference to a shad — it has travelled far to enjoy the 
pleasure of your acquaintance. The oyster, however, is 
churlish — it makes no free visitation, and upon this fact 
hinges the fate of Nicholas NoUikins. He could not 
abide the painful contrast which was brought home to his 
sensibilities, by the change from the wharf to the cove — 
from society to soUtude — from the delicate play of the 
iron-handled knife, (so favourable to the exhibition of 
grace and skill,) to the heavy drag of rakes and tongs in 
the oyster bed ; and he, therefore, concluded to resign his 
regular commission, and to obtain his living for the future 
by dabbling only in the fancy branches of hprnan employ- 
ment. When the boats come up, he has no objection to 
taking a place, for the time being, as salesman to the 
concern ; and in this way, working only when urgent 



CORNER LOUNGERS. 



177 



necessity compels, and consuming the rest of his existence 
in the ornamentals of life, such as leaning against a post 
and speculating on the chances and changes of terrestrial 
affairs, our worthy Nicholas contrives to bite the sunny 
side from the peach, leaving the green core for those who 
are mean enough to be content with it. 

Nicholas has a home, upon a desperate emergency ; 
hit he does not trouble it often with his presence, for 
reasons which he regards as perfectly adequate to excuse 
any deUnquency in this respect, which calumnious tongues 
ipay think proper to lay to his charge. 

" As for goin' home, Billy Bunkers," said he, one day, 
in confidence to the long lad with the short roundabout, 
who leans upon the opposite side of the lamp post; "as 
for goin' home, Billy, savin' and exceptin' when you 
can't help it, why it's perfectly redickUs. If people's 
opinyins could be made to agree, that would be one thing, 
and you might go home. But as these opinyins don't 
agree, why that's another thing, and it's best to clear out 
and keep out, jist as long as you kin. What's your siti- 
vation when you do go home ? There's the old man, and 
there's the old voman and the rest of them, hurtin' your 
feelins as bad as if they was killin' kittens with a brick- 
bat. As soon as you're inside of the door, they sing out 
like good fellers, < Eh, waggybone !— Ho ! ho ! lazyboots !— 
bellow, loafer! — ain't you most dead a workin' so hard ? — 
faint good for your wholesome to be so all-fired industrious!' 
That's the way they keep a goin' on, aggravatin' you for 
everlastin'. They don't understand my complaint— they 
can't understand a man that's lookin' up to better things. 
I tell you, Billy," exclaimed Nicholas, whh tears, in his 
eyes, <' when a feller's any sort of a feller, like you and 

me — " 

u Yes," replied Billy, complacently ; " we're the fellers 

— it takes us." 
15G 



178 CORNER LOUNGERS. 

" When a feller's any sort of a feller, to be ketched at 
home is little better than bein' a mouse in a wire-trap. 
They poke sticks in your eye, squirt cold water on your 
nose, and show you to the cat. Common people, Billy — 
low, ornery, common people, can't make it out when 
natur's raised a gentleman in the family — a gentleman all 
complete, only the money's been forgot. If a man won't 
work all the time — day in and day out — if he smokes by 
the fire or whistles out of the winder, the very gals bump 
agin him and say < get out of the way, loaf!' Now what 
I say is this — if people hasn't had genteel fotchin' up, 
you can no more expect 'em to behave as if they had 
been fotch up genteel, than you can make good cigars 
out of a broom handle." 

" That are a fact," ejaculated Billy Bunkers, with em- 
phasis; for Billy has experienced, in his time, treatment at 
home somewhat similar to that complained of by Nicholas 
Nollikins. 

" But, Billy, my son, never mind, and keep not a let- 
tin' on," continued Nollikins, and a beam of hope irra 
diated his otherwise saturnine countenance ; «'the world's 
a railroad and the cars is comin' — all we'll have to do is 
to jump in, chalked free. There will be a time — some- 
thing must happen. Rich widders are about yet, though 
they are snapped up so fast. Rich widders, Billy, are 
< special providences,' as my old boss used to say when 
I broke my nose in the entry, sent here like rafts to pick 
up deservin' chaps when they can't swim no longer. 
When you've bin down twy'st, Billy, afd are jist off 
agin, then comes the widder a floatin' along. Why, 
splatterdocks is nothin' to it, and a widder is the best of 
all life-preservers, when a man is most a case, like you 
and me." 

" Well, I'm not perticklar, not I, nor never was. I'll 
take a widder, for my part, if she's got the mint drops, 



CORNER LOUNGERS. 179 

and never ask no questions. I'm not proud — never was 
harrystocratic — I drinks with anybody, and smokes all 
the cigars they give me. What's the use of bein' stuck 
up, stiffy ? It's my principle that other folks are nearly 
as good as me, if they're not constables nor aldermen. I 
can't stand them sort." 

"No, Billy," said Nollikins, with an encouraging 
smile, "no, Billy, such indiwidooals as them don't know 
human natur' — but, as I was goin' to say, if there hap- 
pens to be a short crop of widders, why can't somebody 
(leave us a fortin ? — That will do as well, if not better. 
Now look here — what's easier than this? I'm stand in' 
on the wharf — the rich man tries to go aboard of the 
steamboat — the niggers push him off the plank — in I 
jumps, ca-splash! The old gentleman isn't drownded ; 
but he might have been drownded but for me, and if he 
had a bin, where's the use of his money then ? So he gives 
me as much as I want now, and a great deal more when 
he defuncts riggler, accordin' to law and the practice of 
civilized nations. You see — that's the way the thing 
works. I'm at the wharf every day — can't afford to lose 
a chance, and I begin to wish the old chap would hurra 
about comin' along. What can keep him ?" 

" If it 'ud come to the same thing in the end," re- 
marked Billy Bunkers, " I'd rather the niggers would 
push the old man's little boy into the water, if it's all the 
same to him. Them fat old fellers are so heavy when 
they're skeered, and hang on so — why, I might get 
drownded before I had time to go to bank with the 
check ! But what's the use of waitin' ? Couldn't we 
shove 'em in some warm afternoon, ourselves } Who'd 
know in the crowd ?" 
i " I've thought of that. Bunkers, when a man was be- 

f fore me that looked like the right sort. I've often said 
to myself, < My friend, how would you like to be washed 



180 CORNER LOUNGERS. 

for notliin' ?' — but, Billy, there might be mistakes — per- 
haps, when you got him out, he couldn't pay. What 
then?" 

" Why, keep a puttin' new ones in to soak every day, 
till you do fish up the right one." 

" It won't do, my friend — they'd smoke the joke — ■ 
all the riff-rafT in town would be pushin' old gendemen 
into the river, and the elderly folks would have to give 
up travelUn' by the steamboat. We must wait, I'm 
afeared, till the real thing happens. The right person will 
be sure to come along." \ 

"I hope so; and so it happens quick, I don't muc^ 
care whether it's the old man, or his hide boy, or that 
rich widder, that gets a ducking. I'm not proud." 

"And when it does happen," exclaimed Nollikins, 
swelling with a triumphant anticipation, "who but me, 
with more beard than a nannygoat, and a mile of gold 
chain, goin' up Chestnut street ! Who but Nollikins, 
with his biff doff!" 

" Yes, and Billy Bunkers, with two big dogs, a chasin' 
the pigs into the chaney shops." 

" Then you'll see me come the nonsense over the old 
folks — who's loafer now! — and my dog will bite their 
cat — who's ginger-pop and jam spruce l)eer, at this pre- 
sent writin', I'd like to know!" 

And, in a transport of enthusiasm, Nollikins knocked 
the hat of Billy Bunkers, a shallow, dishlike castor, clear 
across the street. 

Thus, wrapped in present dreams and future anticipa- 
tions — a king that is to be — lives Nicholas Nollikins — • 
the grand exemplar of the corner loungers. There he 
stations himself; for hope requires a boundless prospect 
and a clear look out, that, by whatever route fortune 
chooses to approach, she may have a prompt reception. 
Nicholas and his tribe exist but for to-morrow, and rel3r 



CORNER LOUNGERS. 



181 



firmly upon that poetic justice, which should reward those 
who wait patiently until the wheel of fortune turns up a 
prize. They feel, by the generous expansion of their 
souls, by their impatience of ignoble toil, by their aspira- 
tions after the beautiful and nice, that their present posi- 
tion in society is the result of accident and inadvertency, 
and that, if they are not false to the nature that is within 
them, the time must come when the mistake will be rec- 
tified, and " they shall walk in silk attire and siller hae 
to spare," which is not by any means the case at present. 
All that can be expected just now, is, that they should 
spare other people's " siller." 



THE END. 



STEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON, 
PHILADELPHIA. 



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